


Cowley's Inscrutable Five

by KrisserCI5



Series: Cowley's Inscrutables [1]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisserCI5/pseuds/KrisserCI5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where steam is king and the primary power source, and a world that abounds with airships, gas lamps, gears, cogs, and brass goggles, Mr Cowley knows that Queen Victoria, and all of Londinium is in great peril. Can he find the right men to help prevent the menace looming?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cowley's Inscrutable Five

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas and many thanks to my wonderful artist, Togsos.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=nq7394)

**Cowley's Inscrutable Five**

**by krisser**

**A Steampunk Victorianish AU**

**Prologue**

The street lamp, though lit, did not cast a substantial amount of light, a plus for the silently moving man who used the darkness to his advantage. He possessed very fair skin but shielded it well within his dark attire. His dark hair needed no aid to blend well within the shadows. He stopped and stood just outside the lamp range more silent than a mouse wary of a hawk.

Henry Turkel, one half of the East End bullies, took no special care as he moved along the street. He kept his eyes straight ahead, walked past all sundries, and noticed none of the danger surrounding him. He was trussed up like a Christmas day goose before he could draw a full breath.

A whisper full of evil menace pressed close to his ear. "You will tell of what you did. And if you speak of me, remember, I know the faces of your family and there will be no one to hear their cries just as there was no one to hear the cries of Devon Moss." The man faded away into the night as quickly and silently as he entered.

The protector had a mass of brown curls covering his head, and a face that was recognised and trusted as much as one could a man that worked in the coppers' rank. He walked his beat alone as usual in the evenings. He nodded to passersby, the common man of the street, those he trusted more than the men he worked with daily. He turned the corner in his usual laconic stride that would take him directly to the border of the East End. His eyes took in the meticulous details of his surroundings even though his gait spoke of just ambling by.

This night was not his usual as he spied a man trussed up. He was sure his eyes deceived him and shook his head to clear his vision. The trussed-up man remained, so he was still of sound mind. He hurried over, looking about to see if he could locate the perpetrator, but slowed his step as he recognised the package. A vision to behold, it was Henry Turkel, one half of the dreadful scourges of the East End. 

With a lightness of heart the protector spoke. "Well, Henry? What misfortune has befallen you? You practising for the Christmas panto?" He knelt down and ripped the gag from his mouth.

"I did it, I killed Moss. Take me in." Henry Turkel was a quivering mess.

The protector stood up and rocked back on his feet. A Turkel bound for gaol, and, justice willing, the gallows, but though he could not presume to know the future, he could speculate what this could herald.

Together, the Turkel brothers ran all the underhanded and illegal dealings coming in and going out of the East End, but when the brothers were separated, their dealings had always become unbalanced. Together, the brothers provided enough pain to keep the unfortunate cowed, but when apart, chatter was that each brother was even more dangerous alone. 

Henry Turkel did not appear all that dangerous as he whipped his gaze anxiously all about him. "Take me in, take me in," he pleaded. His head moved back and forth continuously as if searching.

Protector Doyle smiled as he acquiesced and did only as the man requested.

**King's Mews**  
**Whitehall & Charing Cross**

 

The largest of the three fellows, ugly and rapacious in nature, dragged an older gentleman across the rough surface of the cobblestones, heedless of the abuse to his head. He continued this way until he stopped at the base of the street lamp. One of his ruffians sent a rope through the air and it caught on the lamppost. Together, they tied the other end to the old man's neck and started to hoist him for a topping.

Mr Bodie, perceived as inscrutable and exceedingly dangerous by most, knew that the older gentleman about to meet his death was a mentah, possibly for the queen, herself, and decided to spare his life. He pulled his long pistol from the deep inside pocket of his frock coat and drew himself closer to the fray, weaving in and out of the spectators who had drawn close to see. He noticed out of the corner of eye that a street protector was also converging on the melee. Their eyes connected, and within a second agreed silently to work together to save the older gentleman.

The protector with the head of curls, and a uniform that proclaimed police, stalked right up to the hooligans. "You will unhand that man." He stood straight with legs ajar and arms akimbo. A slight man upon first glance, but a second look told a more compelling story of understated strength and fitness.

While the protector exchanged words of a impassioned nature with the hooligan, Mr Bodie proved that he was indeed as dangerous as reputed for he aimed his long pistol true toward the hanging pole with steady hands. A red dot appeared on the rope that encircled the gentleman's neck. The dot traced the rope until it was well above his head. Mr Bodie pulled the trigger and a single red line burst forth from the muzzle and hit the rope where the red dot last rested. Instantly, soundlessly, he sliced the rope into two separate parts.

The elder dropped like stone weighted in water only to land on the ground with a thump. The protector ran to aid the old man as best he could. He offered his arm, and righted him onto his feet. He guided him diagonally across the road to the most opposite building to the fray, all the while Mr Bodie kept his long pistol positioned squarely on the ruffians that were complaining bitterly at the loss of their diversion. He waved the cowed mob away as he joined the protector and older man. 

That distinguished older gentleman cranked his head about as if searching. "Will more police be attending?"

The curly-haired protector dusted off his waistcoat and answered with a most disgusted look upon his face. "The police are little interested in the matters of minor consequence."

Mr Bodie produced a whispered, vaguely amused retort, "That is plain speaking if not insulting."

"An unpalatable fact, but not unexpected. Yet, you are here," he said with his head cocked at an angle. Then, right before their eyes, the quinquagenarian's visage changed dramatically from obtuse mouse to perceptive owl in the blink the eye.

Mr Doyle watched the transition with trepidation, but answered with an even tone. "It needed to be attended, and I was here." The shrug was almost elegant. 

Mr Bodie found his eyes transfixed by the view. The protector was already a conundrum. He did not need more complications. He shook his head to clear his mind of its untimely thoughts.

"I extend my gratitude, but at any moment back there I was fully capable of extricating myself. I needed to see if all that I had heard and surmised were correct." That same old gentleman appeared to have cast off a decade of age as he stood straighter and threw his shoulders back.

"Now I wished I had sat back and watched." Mr Bodie leant back against the lamppost.

"Heard and surmised what?" The protector leaned forward intently, not letting the phrase get lost in the boast. 

"That you are decent, good-hearted men that carry on with good deeds without thought of reward."

"Then you must not be speaking of me, sir. I am well known as a reprobate." Pride clear in his voice, Mr Bodie remained leaning against the lamppost while he brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve.

"Ahh, the irascible, Mr Bodie." The old gentleman chuckled before he pinned the man with his stare. "I am quite aware, Mr Bodie, that is what you have craftily conceived your image to be. You think you go about unobserved as you aid those wronged or unable to aid themselves."

Mr Bodie looked uncomfortable with the description as his fingers pulled at his shirt collar.

The curly-haired man chuckled at the obvious discomfort shown by the not-so-dangerous-now Mr Bodie.

The elder's head turned sharply and Mr Doyle was pierced by the same discerning stare. "And you are no better, the enigmatic Mr Doyle, you let the corrupt police see you in the same tarnished light as they themselves, but you are known on the streets as a true protector."

Mr Doyle fidgeted and now looked as uncomfortable as Mr Bodie.

The aged gentleman, who now appeared far more agile than upon first acquaintance, brushed off the last of the dust and debris. "I wish to employ you, if you are so minded."

"Doing what exactly?"

"Saving London and the Queen, of course." With that said, the venerable man turned and prepared to walk away, a limp noticeable for the first time. "The odds are in my favour that you will suit me admirably."

A curious but solicitous voice called after him. "Your name, sir?"

"Cowley, George Cowley."

The two Sir Galahads looked to one another, then both turned back to look after the man stepping swiftly and agilely down the cobblestone despite the slight limp. With a slight shake of his head, Mr Bodie looked to the other. "I am in need of a libation, how about you?"

"I could drink."

"McMann Public House?" Mr Bodie pointed to the drinking establishment located at the north end of the street.

"I am sure it is an adequate drinking establishment." Mr Doyle nodded his endorsement of the idea.

The walk was made in silence. Not awkward, but not yet companionable. 

Mr Bodie swept his eyes about the interior of McMann's, searching. He missed very little. He noted that the dark wood panelling was in excellent condition, a direct contrast to the exterior bricks and mortar. He noticed that the publican never ceased his conversation but took the measure of Mr Doyle, and himself, before the door had closed behind them. A quick, comprehensive survey suggested there was no one within who could promise harm, and Mr Bodie located a table with a clear view of the exit. He pointed it out to Mr Doyle and signalled that he would buy the first round.

Mr Bodie bought and paid for two ales. He carried the drinks back to the table without mishap despite a few jostlings. He placed one before the continuing-enigmatic Mr Doyle. His own drink was already travelling up to his mouth before he sat down beside his new companion.

"You think the old dog really was truly able to extricate himself or was he trying to impress us?" Mr Doyle's face was contorted in great thought and Mr Bodie was sure that Mr Doyle must be quite fond of puzzles. The veracity of this one puzzle could be considered a puzzle itself.

"Well, the crafty old bastard most definitely has a military bearing, and, as his limp proved to be negligible, it is not excluded from the realm of possibility. Besides," Mr Bodie paused as he withdrew the card he had discovered in his pocket. He held it up. "He is nimble enough to pull off a reverse dipper. I speculate that there is a great deal more to him than meets the eye."

Mr Doyle checked his own pockets only to discover that Cowley had surreptitiously slipped a card into his pocket as well. "He must have serious designs for our future. We are to meet him at the Army and Navy Club tomorrow morning at an hour of our convenience."

"The Rag Club? He has been an officer then." Mr Bodie sat back with buoyant expression. "That old war-horse was indeed capable of removing himself to safety."

"I guess he would make an adequate pocket thief at least." Mr Doyle's brows raised enough to be viewed by Mr Bodie.

Mr Bodie smiled with jocularity. "A tooler? Nice that he has a trade to fall back on."

Mr Doyle smiled in return. Mr Bodie could not help but stare. The angular face was transformed by the smile. It made him recall foreign ports and exotic lands. He took a long drink of his ale.

"George Cowley, what do you know of him?" Mr Doyle asked as he returned and set the next round of drinks on the table.

"I believe that he is one of the Queen's mentahs."

"Ahh, a strategist and problem solver."

"Yes, the three eses, savvy, sharp, and, skilled." 

"What do you believe is his true aim?"

"Probably not far from what he stated. Protecting the Queen and all of Britannia. If he is indeed the mentah for the Queen as I believe, then he serves at her pleasure." Mr Bodie had come to understand men such as this. 

"Will you consider his offer?" Mr Doyle inquired with as much seriousness as any question he asked this evening.

"I will admit that the proposition sounds intriguing and matters have become somewhat predictable of late." Mr Bodie drank enthusiastically before he let his curiosity slip. "What of you?"

"The police are quite expected to soon make me redundant."

"Then this could be a most timely happenstance." Mr Bodie leaned forward with great anticipation. Whether for the job or the prospect of spending more time with the enigmatic Mr Doyle, he was not quite sure.

"It could be viewed that way." Mr Doyle finished his ale before getting to his feet. "I thank you for the drink."

Mr Bodie nodded. "I thank you for the company."

**Army and Navy Club**  
**Mayfair**

 

Mr Bodie exited his private hansom, and nodded to the driver, his mate, Erin Murphy. He walked around the front of their hansom that had been adapted for two horses, holding out a treat for each. He turned and studied 'The Rag Club' as its patrons dubbed it. All of its opulence was inside. Outside was efficient, like the good military facility was supposed to be. It could be considered a peculiar meeting place, but Mr Bodie understood that Mr Cowley probably felt comfortable within the military confines.

He stepped up to the door and knocked sharply. The door opened with a snap, as though the doorman had been waiting for the knock. He immediately spotted that Mr Doyle was already present. The warm feeling was a surprise. He was quite pleased to see the man again. There was a different energy about this man. He knew even with the short acquaintance that this was a man he could work alongside. 

The sergeant looked at him inquiringly for but a second. "Ah, Mr Bodie. The major instructed me to bring you back after you had both arrived."

Curiouser and curiouser. Major Cowley. Mr Bodie was positive that the old man had quite expected the both of them to show up, and both, first thing this very morning. He looked to Mr Doyle, who wore the same speculative look that must adorn his own face.

Why, the old bastard was weaving an intricate web of something. Maybe being a mentah he could not help it, but he would have to remain sharp, and vigilant as well if he hoped to understand.

The sergeant led them to a small anteroom. Major Cowley was sitting behind a simple wooden desk that seemed to match the man, but Mr Bodie was quite sure that both held secrets most people overlooked. He had a copious number of papers spread about freely across the top of said desk. Once again it was with the intention of misleading those who would judge him. A disordered desk may mislead some into missing the sharply organised mind.

"Thank you, Sergeant." Mr Cowley acknowledged.

"Major." The sergeant nodded, and one could see that the man had to stop himself from saluting.

The door closed and Mr Cowley indicated that the men should sit down. They sat, on the plain wooden chairs that seemed to fit the sparse décor of the room.

"Though you both seem to be men of breeding, I am not sure one could call you gentlemen." The major took off his glasses and rested back in his chair.

"I am not sure I would care to be called gentleman if it puts me into the same room as the empty-headed duffs from well-to-do families." Mr Doyle spoke with a defiant sharpness in his voice.

Mr Bodie found he was quite pleased with Mr Doyle's reply. "Property, funds, and breeding alone do not guarantee decent behaviour."

Mr Cowley nodded. His opinion of their answers was kept to himself. "That attitude could prove useful. You would be able to walk in both worlds."

"Doing what exactly?" Mr Doyle asked.

Mr Cowley sat forward, elbows on the desktop, steepling fingers, as he obviously pondered the men before him. He sighed and seemed to come to a decision. "London is in great peril. If my contacts are correct, it is the greatest menace that has ever threatened our great city."

A sense of ominous foreboding filled the room. For Mr Bodie, it felt like someone walking across his grave. "That still does not clarify what you are asking us to do."

"Work with me to stop it."

"Is that why you were being strung up last evening, facing certain death?" Mr Bodie inquired.

Mr Cowley sighed. "I fear that the forces that want to take down the Queen suspect that I am aware of the plot and have taken action to prevent me from stopping them."

"Can you warn Her Majesty?" Mr Doyle suggested.

"Not without irrefutable proof. Some that I believed involved are her closest advisors." 

"Why trust us?" Mr Bodie asked bluntly.

"While I was seeking information, your names came to my attention. Deeds that you both have been credited with were proven out. You came to the aid of a stranger with no thought of recompense. You are exactly the type of men I am looking for. Please think on it and give your decision tomorrow. Be careful, it is possible that helping me has already made you targets as well." Mr Cowley stood and straightened his left leg for a few seconds before he walked to the door, the limp more pronounced. 

Both men stood and each accepted the proffered hand.

The sergeant showed them out and they found themselves once again outside the club.

Mr Doyle started to open his mouth, closed it, shook his head, then stuck out his hand. "I need to deal with things at the station."

Mr Bodie shook the hand. "Another time." He turned signalled and Murphy for the hansom.

**King's Mews**

 

Mr Bodie knew that Mr Doyle was on duty this evening. He also knew that if they were indeed at risk, this very evening would be an advantageous time to strike. He elected to patrol as he did most evenings, but this patch was closer to the protector's territory.

He finally located Mr Doyle. The bright white column of buttons on his uniform attracted the eye like a beacon. The Protector was in the process of stopping a pair of mug-hunters. He watched in admiration as Mr Doyle kicked out at one while he subdued another. He placed restraints on the lawbreakers' wrists then grabbed for his whistle. He whistled for back up. He whistled long and loud several times, but there were no cries of acknowledgement, no answering whistles, and when it became obvious that none would come, the miscreant on the ground took advantage and resisted the protector by kicking out at him. The hand-restrained man tugged to get the protector off balance. They were in the process of gaining the upper hand when Mr Bodie took action.

Mr Bodie grabbed his rope and scaled the lamppost with the flickering light. He tied off one end of the rope, pushed a button, and jumped out and away from the fray in order to make a larger arc. He swung through the air back over the ruckus and grabbed Mr Doyle under the arm, removing him from the blow that was sure to be a killing strike.

Mr Bodie positioned both legs to get a good bounce off the building as the rope swung him back the other way. They flew well above the melee as this pass they moved through the air far above the men below.

Mr Doyle did not look down, instead, studied the cord he was clutching with one hand while he ignored the arm around his middle. "This is a rope that retracts on itself?"

"Yes, a contraption that my companion Murphy creates."

"I must thank him."

"Hey, it's me that saved you."

"Oh, yes, and thank you." Mr Doyle's expression was mischievous as he was placed on the ground with great care.

"Well, we seem to already be on someone's eradication list, though they will know now we are no easy target, and it is more than possible that our intentionally enigmatic Mr Cowley was correct."

"Chance would be a fine thing."

**Bethnal Green**  
**Mr Bodie's Abode**

 

Mr Bodie sent word upon waking that he was indeed interested in the employment opportunity that Major George Cowley was offering. He held great optimism that Mr Doyle would also look favourably on the prospect of working for Mr Cowley and alongside himself.

When the missive was pushed under his door a surprisingly short time later, he was not surprised. Ten o'clock. Please be prompt. 

The address put him at the docks. Morris Antiquities. It was one of the warehouse buildings along the edge of the River Thames. 

 

**The Docks**

 

Mr Bodie stepped away from his conveyance and pulled his coat tighter about him. The damp had yet to dissipate from the early morning fog. He turned to face the river. There was a quiet solitude to the area despite the dock worker noise in the background. That there was a lingering scent of rubbish and oil that grew stronger as the fog disappeared motivated him to turn away. Hooves string the cobblestone drew his attention. 

He was pleased to see Mr Doyle exiting a carriage and settling with the driver. He looked back to Mr Murphy and his own conveyance. He gave a nod toward Mr Doyle, letting Murphy study the man they would be working alongside.

Mr Bodie joined Mr Doyle as he walked to the front of the building. Mr Doyle was fiddling with his own copy of the missive he had received. 

Mr Bodie tilted his head to the side as he asked, "Do you have the idea that this will be the last time we receive a by-your-leave?" 

Mr Doyle nodded his head in reluctant agreement. "I asked around and he got the gyp limb while serving in the First Opium War. "

"Knew he must have seen action. Had the look."

They stood in front of the brick warehouse. The sign was a simple design, carved out wooden letters, no paint or glass. Morris Antiquities, by appointment only. Mr Bodie lifted his fist to knock but the door opened before contact.

"Gentlemen." Mr Cowley himself opened the door. No staff lurked in the shadows, none could been seen whatsoever. The worn brick on the outside had been reinforced by strong firebrick on the inside. Mr Cowley led them away from the entry door. 

Mr Bodie was glad to be away from the musty odour that permeated the entrance flam. "Don't use this building often." His head tipped back to the way they had come. He was still shielding his nose from the scent of disuse.

Mr Cowley half turned with a smile flashing for a quick moment. "My associate creates that odour for just that impression."

After traversing a short corridor, Mr Cowley showed them into a quaint office. Papers and books littered the shelves. A quick survey would leave one with the impression of accounting materials, but again, Mr Bodie believed that was misleading. The desk was different, though, crafted of the finest oak, and the workmanship spoke of great care. This was a treasured desk. 

Only two folders lay on top of the desk. They were both open. 

Mr Cowley did not even look down at the material. "Mr Doyle, do you shoot with the same high degree of accuracy as Mr Bodie?"

"I am quite sure I am adequate enough." The voice held no trace of conceit, just the flat tone of fact.

"Your record with the constabulary seems to indicate that is an understatement."

Mr Bodie's curiosity was well and truly piqued. "A contest, I think."

Mr Cowley sat there with a satisfied look that Mr Bodie had to wonder about. Mr Cowley continued. "On your own time. We have some serious business at hand, a perplexing problem, but first, the usual business when obtaining employment. I have two buildings that have been converted into individual living quarters. You will each have your own flat. In front of the mews, off Spring Gardens, Building Seventeen. You can keep the ones you have now or not, that is up to you. Mr Doyle, you may consider vacating yours as the corrupt coppers do know where you live." He turned two papers around for each man to sign. "Your pay will be issued weekly. Vital expenditures will be turned in monthly."

Mr Bodie looked at the amount offered, then looked toward Mr Doyle. He too, thought it more than fair. If they were thrifty with the money offered, they could become gentlemen if they were not already.

"Now, Bodie, I seem to recall that your weapon was unusual. It did not have the usual metallic sound of ammunition."

"Good ear. You are correct. I used a particle beam long pistol. Very vanguard." Mr Bodie pulled out the same pistol from the back of his coat and placed it on the desk in front of the major.

"He has a retractable rope as well." Mr Doyle's curiosity covered his face.

"My mate is an inventor. We served in the Foreign Legions when we were too young to know better. He got ideas on how to make weapons better and I would try them out, then he would tinker with them until they worked as he imagined."

"I could find a position for him as well," Mr Cowley offered. Just a hint of eager anticipation was discernible. 

Mr Bodie thought it was quite probable that Murphy would take up the offer if it included a flat of his own. Living with his family had quite limited his social life, as he did not want to be married off.

"What exactly is it that you want us to do?" Mr Doyle leaned forward, eyes on Mr Cowley. He was still hoping for a candid answer that would clarify their duties.

Mr Cowley paused as he stared at the two men in front of him. His facial expression gave little away, but his body seemed to relax. His voice lost its authoritative tone. 

"For several months, I have heard circulating rumours of impending doom for London. All roads lead to Coogan. My sources have gathered that the Coogan brothers are formulating a plan to control London. They were heard to say that they wanted to bend everyone to their will. These men are capable of devious and dangerous methods with little concern how it affects others."

"Yes, I have encountered them a fair bit, or I should say their lackeys, but the Coogans seemed rather untouchable. Orders usually came from the top to let them be; they were serving a purpose." Mr Doyle's apparent dislike was more than obvious to both men.

Mr Bodie shifted back on the chair. "Are you thinking that they are amassing a stockpile of weaponry?"

"That is more than a strong possibility but in all likelihood, there is a great deal more. That is why I need you to gather information so that I can find the real threats amid the white wash. This threat, along with that of the subterfuge within Her Majesty's Court, should be more, more than enough to keep you busy." Mr Cowley pushed himself back into his chair. "Now, what can I bring to the table besides gainful employment? I have my own inventor/tinker and I am hoping your friend, Mr Bodie, will join him in keeping a step ahead of the miscreants that we are after." He stood and indicated the door with his hand.

After a short flight of stairs and a maze of corridors, they reached a larger than average door. Cowley pushed a series of buttons and they could hear the sound of steam releasing within the walls. The large door gave way and opened in to an even larger room. 

A laboratory.

A laboratory with a retractable ceiling opened as they stood there to reveal a glass dome. A laboratory that was colossal enough to house a moving walkway out of necessity just to get from one side to the other was just the beginning. It was a laboratory that was full of mechanical gadgets, a miniature submersible that looked the right size for just two people, steam vents that billowed forth, and more metal than either man had ever seen gathered into one place. Half-built contraptions that defied description appeared to be quite common. Their eyes could not locate everything that resided in the laboratory. Goggles and gas masks littered the walls. Clock parts, boat parts, gears, and tools covered every other available space on the walls. It spilled over into corners and spare inch of the floor.

Mr Bodie knew that his friend Murphy would be itching to come in here and create new oddities.

A massive flaxen-haired man stood at the far end of the laboratory. He acknowledged Mr Cowley with a head bob and stepped onto the moving path. He jumped off and greeted Mr Cowley with a handshake. He turned and pierced both men with his gaze.

The look paralleled none that Mr Bodie had received previously. He seemed to be searching for some unknown thing, and Mr Bodie could not supply even a guess.

"Mr Macklin, may I introduce you to Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle. They are here to aid us."

The piercing eyes never wavered from their faces and the three men studied one other.

Mr Macklin broke the silence first. "I heard tell that you have a weapon of a unique design."

Mr Bodie pulled the long pistol from inside his jacket and handed it over to the inventor, muzzle away. Macklin moved it up and down in his hands before he turned it over to inspect it more closely. He turned his back on the three men and aimed the pistol across his laboratory. He pushed the small button on the butt with his thumb and could barely hear the clock-like movement just before he saw the red dot on the far side of the building. He pulled the trigger and a reddish brown beam hit the far wall soundlessly. Mr Macklin stepped onto the moving walk and travelled to the wall he had shot. He inspected it before he returned.

"Impressive. Particle beam, if I am not mistaken. I would like to meet its inventor." Mr Macklin did not appear quite as intimidating as he had just a few minutes earlier. 

He must have found something to his liking, or maybe it was just the pistol. 

"I will bring him in this very afternoon." Mr Bodie knew his friend would find a kindred mind in this place.

Mr Cowley nodded to Mr Macklin and led Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle to another spacious room adjacent to the laboratory. 

"While I know that you both can handle yourselves admirably, there are a few techniques that could give you men an advantage over some of the ruffians you are certain to encounter."

A short man who appeared to be the same age as Mr Cowley approached them. He looked as if he could have been extremely fit in his day, but time had taken its toll.

"'Ello, Major. What have you brought me today?"

"Mr Martin. Barry Martin. Mr Ray Doyle and Mr Bodie. I am hoping that you will imbue them with some of your finer dirty fighting methods and ways to stay safe in the back streets."

"I aims to please, Major." Barry Martin turned to the two men. "What can you show me?"

"I will leave you two here for an hour, then I would like to meet your Mr Murphy." Mr Cowley left the way he came.

Both of their feet leaving the ground more times than he could count, Mr Bodie watched as Mr Doyle held his own with the deceptively agile older man. Mr Doyle, himself, knew quite a few dirty fighting tricks, but the Major's crony, Barry Martin had certainly surprised both of them with moves that had not seemed possible. An hour passed by quickly and Mr Bodie was able to discover that Mr Doyle would prove to be an able and equal partner when it came to brawling. 

They arranged to meet with Mr Martin again next morning. An old dog could certainly show some new tricks to younger hounds.

Mr Bodie followed Mr Doyle as he retraced his steps through the maze of corridors, up the stairs, and back to the entrance. 

As soon as they stepped outside, Mr Doyle offered a suggestion. "Seems the good idea would be to get a bite to eat and then return with your friend. I do not know about you, but the noses I use will not be around until this evening."

"I do know a few that will blow for gatter." Mr Bodie signalled for Murphy. "Why don't you join us for a meal?" 

"I would like to meet the inventor of your rope. Quite like to have one of my own." Mr Doyle smiled for the first time that day.

Mr Bodie turned away quickly to mask the effect of that smile. He signalled his driver with the wave of his hand for him to join the two of them on the street.

Mr Murphy nodded down at the hansom inquiring if it was needed. Mr Bodie waved it off and gestured that he alone should join them.

Mr Murphy set in place the half-filled food buckets before leaving the horses for just the meal break.

Mr Bodie made the introduction. "Erin Murphy, Ray Doyle." 

Both stuck their hands out to shake in the manner of gentleman, but Mr Doyle elected not to wait and complete the greeting ritual before he exclaimed with admiration, "You have mastered the transforming craftsmanship. I already covet the rope that retracts on itself." The enthusiastic handshake and genuine smile lent credence to his words.

Erin Murphy returned the enthusiastic handshake with a genuine smile. "Thank you most kindly. I could volunteer one up for your use," he offered with magnanimous generosity.

"I would most definitely like." Mr Doyle's smile included Mr Bodie. 

Mr Bodie watched as Mr Murphy explained several of his creative alterations to standard equipment to Mr Doyle with a rapturous intensity.

Mr Bodie always enjoyed it when his long-time mate, Murph, could express his enthusiasm without censure or ridicule. Mr Doyle appeared to be truly enthralled with some of the failure fiascos as well as the antics they had both participated in. Whether he was or not he was truly rapt with the stories was immaterial, it was obvious to Mr Bodie that Mr Doyle was an extremely agreeable gentleman. 

They settled into the back of the pub. Mr Bodie liked to position himself to keep watch on the door. He was not surprised to see Mr Doyle do likewise. The meal was of simple meats, cheese and breads, but the flavours were exquisite. The dark ale to wash it down enhanced the flavours all the more, and they ate their fill. They stayed seated until closing.

The afternoon found all three men at the entrance to Morris Antiquities. Mr Cowley once again opened the door himself.

After introductions, Mr Bodie followed in the wake of their new employer as he led them all back down the stairs and through the maze of corridors to Mr Macklin's laboratory.

The look of awe, delight, and anticipation on Mr Murphy's face convinced Mr Bodie that joining up with Mr Cowley was well worth while, if nothing else had been. Mr Bodie was of the belief that not only had this been a wise move, that it would also become one that would define him.

Mr Cowley pulled Mr Murphy to the side and offered him accommodations in the same buildings as Mr Doyle and himself. Mr Bodie would not have been astonished if Mr Macklin resided there as well. 

"Mr Murphy, I can offer more supplies and equipment for your use. It is already obvious by what little I have seen that you are inventive and will be sure to become a great asset." 

Mr Murphy's smile was large and genuine. He shook hands with Mr Cowley as he agreed to a wage. With the business completed Mr Murphy turned around to step onto the moving walk. He appeared anxious to join Mr Macklin on the other side of the laboratory, but was distracted and bent to examine the contraption beneath his feet with a look of wonder on his face.

Mr Cowley nodded to Mr Macklin before he turned completely to face the doorway. He indicated that Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle should take their leave as Mr Macklin and Mr Murphy were already so deep in conversation they seemed to have forgotten that there were others in the lab. He led them through the maze of corridors back to his original office.

Mr Bodie tried to memorise the turns. Seeing Mr Doyle's lips moving soundlessly, he imagined that the man was doing the same.

Mr Cowley motioned for the door to be closed and then that they should sit as he did himself.

"Thank you, Bodie, your Mr Murphy will make a worthy addition to this group," Mr Cowley said with pleased anticipation, then, in the blink of the eye, his expression became quite serious. "Thank you both for committing to this venture. I believe that we now stand a fighting chance. The stakes are quite high, and all of Londinium could be affected."

Mr Bodie dipped his head to acknowledge for himself and Mr Murphy. He could see out of the corner of his eye Mr Doyle doing likewise.

"Bodie, I know that you have a familiarity with the military, and, Doyle, I know that the Metropolitan Police has its own set of rules, regulations, chain of command, and such. I do not want to stand on that kind of ceremony here. Precious time will be lost, time we do not have, if you must always return to ask permission.

"You both are obviously self-reliant men, you would have never been brought to my attention otherwise, and now, you must continue to be. We all bring something to this roundtable and I will not try to second guess all your decisions."

Mr Cowley held up his hand when Mr Bodie inched forward in his chair as if to speak. "That does not mean we will not communicate daily or that we are without leadership. Just not the stringent style common to the regular military." Mr Cowley removed his glasses and wiped his face with a perfectly pressed handkerchief. He replaced his glasses and placed the handkerchief back into his pocket. "My talents are not in leadership, alone. I possess an exceptional ability to deduce, anticipate, calculate, and see patterns behind tactics. Whether it is military or street thugs matters not. So, with the information you gather, together, we will be able to see the possible outcome and alter its effects. There, again, your talents will be utilised with the aid of Messrs Murphy and Macklin's inventions."

Mr Bodie sat back in his seat. A quick look from out of the side of his eye noted that Mr Doyle wore the same owlish expression. He turned his head slightly to exchange looks with Mr Doyle, confusion seemed to be at war with excitement in them both.

Mr Cowley pushed a folder toward each man. "With that said, I still want you both to have additional training in armoury, hand-to-hand combat, and communication. We must do this quick, my calculations say we are left with very little time to prepare."

The folders contained what weapons he had on hand, the areas of fighting he could provide training for, and a list of what Macklin had for their use. 

"Mr Martin mentioned that you had arranged to all meet again in the morning. His assessment states that all you require is a short refresher. He said that you had dirty tactics that he did not know. So I offer the services of Sensei Sachio. We became aquatinted in China when he was there studying with the Shaolin. I have found that multiple fighting styles will allow you an advantage. What are you already familiar with?"

"Aiki-jūjutsu and Bushido," Mr Bodie answered as he mimicked wielding a bamboo stick.

"Karate and boxing," Mr Doyle replied. "Most of the boxing was with the Met."

"I have done some boxing, no training, though," Mr Bodie added with alacrity. 

Mr Cowley nodded and jotted down the additional information on the tablet of paper. "Between your own prowess, additional combat training and what accoutrements Messrs Macklin and Murphy can provide, I believe that you will have the broadest advantages to fight our campaign."

"I cannot help but be curious, where does all the funding come from? The laboratory alone boggles the mind." Mr Doyle questioned without censure. 

"Well asked, Mr Doyle. The funds come from my family, the Queen's personal funds, and one minister that I served with. Politically, he cannot help or acknowledge us, but in private he shares my fears. He channels a great sum quarterly. He will do so as long as we are in our fight."

"It is good to know that we do not have to be indebted by special allegiance." Mr Bodie was gratified that they did not have too many people they were beholden to.

"Well, gentlemen you need to move your accommodations, so we will meet after your time with Mr Martin. Tomorrow then."

Mr Bodie could hear the non-verbal click your boot heels in his tone. He stood and made his way to the door. Instead of making for the exit, Mr Bodie turned back in the direction of the lab.

"Hang on, I do not have time to play." Mr Doyle did not move to follow.

Mr Bodie rolled his eyes. He was sure that it was indeed a snarky comment, but he answered it seriously until he had more of a feel for the man. "I thought to let Murphy know I was taking the horses and carriage. I did not want to leave and have him think it was missing." The tone could be construed as haughty. "If you can wait, I had planned to offer you the services of my conveyance as well. We are all going to virtually the same place."

"Do not go out of your way for me." Mr Doyle did not want the responsibility of the debt.

"If it were an inconvenience I would not have offered," Mr Bodie said in a voice devoid of the irritation he actually felt. The man was positively disagreeable at times. 

"Fine," Mr Doyle said, somewhat mollified, and yet he could not help but feel he was put on the defensive. "Just do not take all afternoon."

Mr Bodie rolled his eyes again, this time out of Mr Doyle's sight. He twisted and turned along the corridors in memory and when he paused, unsure of which direction, Mr Doyle tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the right. A few more turns and the corridor opened into Mr Macklin's vast laboratory.

Both inventors were on the far side of the workroom. Their clock-gears headlamps shone brightly and made them easy to spot. They were bent over a massive contraption conferring on what appeared to be a cross between a bird and a train. Waving arms, hand gestures, and head nods accompanied their rapid discussion. So absorbed, they did not notice their visitors.

Mr Bodie watched the moving walkway for a few heartbeats, taking its measure before he stepped on. After a few moments of doing the same, Mr Doyle joined him.

"You can see the steam-driven gears locking and unlocking if you look between the cracks as we pass by." Mr Doyle pointed to the moving gears seen clearly when the puffs of steam cooled.

Mr Bodie watched, equally transfixed, wondering how something so simple could produce something so complex and functional. He listened to the ticking of the gears interlocking and the clanks as they knocked as they passed. They were across the building in half the time, expending only half the energy. Well done!

"Murphy, Murphy," Mr Bodie yelled as he waved his arm. With no response, he bellowed, "MURPH!"

Both the scientists turned to face him. Murphy smiled, and waved before stepped around the machine. He reached up and turned off the headlamp.

"What powers that? Whatever that is," Mr Bodie asked. He pointed to the contraption that he had yet to identify.

Mr Macklin looked at Mr Murphy out of the corner of his eye, and Mr Murphy gave the slightest of head nods in return. Mr Macklin turned to face Mr Bodie. "It is a combination of the aether substance and steam. If we get it right, it should fly."

"Fly?" Mr Bodie felt like a second form school boy.

"Like a dirigible?" Mr Doyle face was squenched tight in bafflement. 

"Much better and more efficient. Murph, here is an inventor's dream, he thinks we can make it for single occupant. Nifty." Mr Macklin seemed to get as excited as he had seen Mr Murphy. 

"I'll be able to fly? And control the flight?" Mr Bodie had to admit that he was excited as well.

"Yes. I am perfecting the aether. If I can super heat it without losing the steam to the atmosphere, then it could remain in a closed compartment and power the airship."

"I know hydrogen and helium, but aether escapes me." Mr Doyle shrugged with his palms up.

"Aether is a classical element." Mr Macklin nodded as if it were not the first time he had been asked. "In ancient times it was thought to be the force that all life derived. DaVinci dabbled in it but pursued his lead into gold formula instead. Since, it is not been widely used outside of the orient. I have not had it long. I inherited it from my uncle who lived most of his life in Shanghai."

"He has a hydrogen-powered submersible that I am tinkering with so that it will become so manoeuvrable that just two people can operate it instead of six. For furtive actions using waterways." Mr Murphy's excitement was almost tangible. "Macklin is trying to create a mini submersible for just one man to power."

Mr Bodie had walked to the closest lamp while Mr Murphy continued to catalogue their projects. He still needed some answers. "Why aren't the lamps creating smoke? Or soot, for that matter?" 

Mr Macklin chuckled. "Ah, my father derived a substance from amber that could provide a clean power alternative to oil. It is known as anbaric. We lived with the Rom for many years when I was a lad and they happen to have an overabundant supply of amber. My father traded for all we needed." Mr Macklin leaned back against the workbench and smiled reminiscently.

"I greatly anticipate experimenting with all your inventions," Mr Bodie replied with heartfelt honestly. "Right now, though, I am taking the horses and cab and moving our belongings to our new situation. Mr Doyle and I have work to do for Mr Cowley after that."

"Sure, sure. I am fine here." It was easy to recognise that the man preferred to remain right where he was.

"I will collect yours as well, old friend. Remember to eat." Mr Bodie motioned to Mr Doyle that they should depart.

Outside, Mr Doyle halted just outside the entrance to Morris Antiquities. "I want to get to the East-End docks, I have a mate that we can rope in for information."

"Where are we headed exactly?"

"Railway near the Isle of Dogs."

Mr Bodie stepped up and behind into the driver's seat after he had opened the cab door for Mr Doyle with a bow. He tapped the horses lightly and guided the/m in the correct direction. The route was fairly unencumbered at this time of day. Mr Bodie let his thoughts wander. He felt true excitement at the prospect of being included in this grand scheme of helping those at the mercy of brigands; brigands that were of both the criminal element and the political element. Those that believed that bullying and extorting were acceptable methods of obtaining what they wanted; money and power. He was not yet clear on his opinion of Mr Doyle.

He pulled into an area close to the docks that had other carriages and cabs. He jumped down and opened the door for Mr Doyle.

"What, no bow?" Mr Doyle asked with a tone that spoke of a decent sense of humour.

"And have folk think I am working off station? I think not!" Mr Bodie took off his waistcoat and placed it on the seat inside the cab. "Do not want to attract too much attention." His work shirt and ctrousers were of the working class. 

Mr Doyle removed his sack coat as well. His clothes mimicked Mr Bodie save for colour. Mr Doyle pointed to the railway and set off at a faster gait than he had used at the warehouse.

Mr Bodie hurried to keep in step with him. "Who are we looking for?" 

"My mate? He is a man of colour." Mr Doyle spoke with no hesitation.

"Respectable?"

Stung by the implied belittlement, Mr Doyle stopped in place and retorted swiftly, "He is an honest, hard working individual as well as a man in good standing. His words will have value. He chooses to keep me informed about all the incidences and occurrences that would be of possible interest. His name is Jax, Charlie Jax." Mr Doyle's tone remained hard.

"No offence meant, truly. Just attempting to sort out if he was a Bobbie's blower."

"He is a mate, not a blower." Mr Doyle's tone bordered on hostile. 

"Just looking for clarification. Many of the Metropolitan Police are known to have blowers. If his word is good for you, then it works for me." Mr Bodie bowed his head in apology.

They continued to the docks, then Mr Bodie followed as Mr Doyle led them away from the water and amid the train cars. Mr Doyle stopped them a good hundred yards from where the men were off loading the cargo cars. They stood waiting until all work was complete, then one man separated from the group and made his way toward them.

Mr Doyle raised his hand in greeting first and waited until the dark-skinned man stopped in front of him. 

"Mr Jax, Mr Bodie." 

Mr Bodie extended his hand without hesitation and Mr Jax took it with a head bob. 

"Your family well?" Mr Doyle asked from genuine desire rather than just politeness.

"They are all doing well. They are all reading now." Mr Jax smiled and his white teeth stood out against the darker skin.

"I am needing a favour." Mr Doyle admitted honestly.

"What do you ask?" 

"The man that has recruited us," indicating Mr Bodie and himself, "believes, truly believes, that Londinium is in great peril. You hear information that protectors are not privy to, so I am asking if you would be willing to keep an ear and pass it along. Only problem is that time is of the essence. The peril is immediate."

Mr Jax looked sideways at Mr Bodie, with a dubious glint in his eye. "This here a Bobby, as well?"

Mr Doyle smiled. "No, he is not. But, then again, neither am I. I have left that situation for a more honest endeavour."

"Ah, you are actually working for a solitary individual?" Mr Jax shook his head in disappointment. "How can you, or myself, for that matter, know that he is honest?"

"He is a Queen's mentah." Mr Bodie spoke for the first time since the introduction.

Mr Jax blinked twice, then nodded his head sagely with complete understanding. "Ah. Ray, I have always trusted you and I will be glad to aid you with whatever I can." He leaned in to Mr Doyle. "I am quite glad that you will work with men of the same ilk as you." Mr Jax could not disguise the furtive look he cast to Mr Bodie.

"Mr Bodie is of the same ilk as well." Mr Doyle assured him. He handed his friend a paper with his new address information. "Send one of your boys around if you want to meet. I will compensate him from this end."

Mr Jax shook both men's hands before he faded away back among the rails.

They walked back to where the cab was waiting in silence. The silence was not hostile, but preventive in nature. No words . . . no tales.

**Spring Gardens**  
**Building Seventeen**

 

After stopping in West Ham at the Murphy family dwelling to collect Mr Murphy's belongings, Mr Bodie turned the carriage for Hoxton. Mr Doyle's flat held very little for him to pack up, and he left without a look back. Last stop was in Bethnal Green for his own belongings. He had two bags already waiting; he had packed once he decided to take the position. The two trunks filled with weapons took longer to transfer than his other possessions, and he did indeed need Mr Doyle's help with the trunks. So he accepted gracefully when the offer had been made.

Mr Bodie kept a watchful eye throughout the journey. He was uncomfortable that he had no definitive explanation for the attack against Mr Doyle. There was no way to ascertain if it had been Cowley related or Mr Doyle's Bobby work that was the impetus. Once he was positive that no curious eyes lingered longer than was usual he pointed the horses in the direction of their destination. He could feel Mr Doyle keeping a watchful eye. He took a bit of comfort in that as well.

The scenery changed from densely populated homes and vendors to one of solely residences. It was a smaller area that faced away from the midtown bustle that added an air of tranquillity all around.

Mr Bodie directed the hansom into the specified lane and stopped in front of number seventeen. It was quite apparent to see that all of the buildings contained within the patch looked freshly painted. Mr Bodie jumped down and Mr Doyle followed. Mr Doyle had also made the journey on top even though crowded. The cab was filled to the brim with possessions being transported for the three men. They both agreed that they would leave their possessions where they were until after the new accommodations were thoroughly inspected.

The trees that surrounded the buildings were tall and thick. They had seen the comings and goings of many generations. The hedges were thick and long as well, and it was obvious to any eye that they had been tailored recently. All the brick was worn but well fortified. It looked normal, and felt regular to the untrained eye, and Mr Bodie was positive that it was intended to do so. The fact that it was a reinforced buttress remained hidden.

After an exchanged nod of intent, they set off to inspect the area surrounding the buildings, and the mews behind for accesses, escape routes, and defensive positions. They walked side by side, but spoke not a word. Mr Doyle, eyes alert, checked the very same spots as Mr Bodie. They found escape passages that were indiscernible from the outside, but inside the gate was well hidden by the shrubbery. They could defend from the corners of the rooftops with no one building close enough to attack from above. 

Mr Bodie found that Mr Doyle's thorough appraisal, and the fact that it was a completely defendable dwelling, gave him comfort. 

"Oi." Mr Bodie projected his voice as he pointed to the door to indicate that he was going inside. Mr Doyle jogged up to his position to join him. 

Inside was quite pleasing to the eye. The parlour was well illuminated and enhanced the wallpaper that depicted idyllic times of outdoor joys. Comfortable furniture that beckoned the weary to relax was coupled with areas where a group could talk or play games.

Upon a complete investigation, no coal-fired stoves were to be found. It was steam-powered heating that ran the entirety of the building and left no room cold. It was also quite remarkable that the stench of London did not reach within their area. Mr Cowley had obviously used Bazalgette's idea of tunnels and pipes to divert sewage outside the city. Mr Bodie sincerely hoped that his idea caught on for the whole of Londinium.

Only one flat downstairs had the door secured. The only other flat on the lower level had its door ajar. The rest of the four dwellings upstairs stood with doors wide open, ready for immediate occupancy. Mr Bodie chose the flat next to what was probably Mr Macklin's residence for Mr Murphy. Mr Bodie chose a flat upstairs in the back left corner for himself. Mr Doyle chose the right back corner upstairs. Both were very defendable and easily escaped if necessary. The residences were side by side. The flats did have an adjoining door that had locks from both sides.

Outside, behind the flats, the men continued their exploration and found a coach house with a paddock. The coach house was large enough to be able to accommodate several carriages. Fresh hay lay in the stalls and new tack hung on the walls. There was a small cottage with accommodation for a groom, and family. This was all certainty larger than the original mews. That was an added benefit, and very welcome in Mr Bodie's eyes. He knew that Murph would be pleased about the coach house as well. They had the one hansom cab and two horses between them.

They finished a full review and walked back to the coach and horses waiting patiently. They spent the rest of the daylight left to them hauling all the belongings and placing them in the appropriate flats, including Mr Murphy's.

When all was complete, Mr Bodie looked over to Mr Doyle. "I do believe that a meal would be in order now," he said hopefully.

"I could eat."

Since this immediate area was to be home, Mr Bodie kept the horses' gait to a walk so that he and Mr Doyle could familiarise themselves with the area. He would have to make some night forays to learn it in more depth. But for now, The Lord Nelsen was the closest public house, and it seemed to draw the working class. The inside was well worn, but clean. Mr Bodie checked the exits and the patrons. Both appeared more than adequate. It would be quite simple to feel at home there.

The meal and drink were a welcome respite after the hard work of establishing new accommodations. The conversation was banal in its content but allowed them to leave the impression that they were average men delaying the inevitable journey home to harridan wives. 

Outside and away from ears Mr Doyle pointed to the hansom. "I have one more stop to make before I can call it a day."

Mr Bodie nodded without a word and with a broad hand sweep he opened the cab door. "Where to, kind sir?"

"Whitechapel and High."

**Whitechapel and High**  
**Sweep confluence**

Benny Porter, was a small, slim man, and it was easy to comprehend why he was a successful chimney sweep. He had been apprenticed as a young boy, but instead of becoming a master sweep, his size had allowed him to continue in the profession himself and become a free sweep. The occupation of sweep was like a backdoor key and invisible to most of the polite society. It was when Benny discovered some oddities involving orphaned bairns that he had sought the only Bobby that the street people trusted, Protector Ray Doyle.

Now, when he discovered something potentially damaging to innocents, it was Protector Doyle he sought out by acting the screever. The chalk drawing would hold a message within the sketch. The Protector on his beat walk would recognise the code and they would meet that evening. 

That did not preclude the Protector seeking him out when he needed his brand of help when necessary. The Protector would be there at Whitechapel and High when the sweeps were finished with their day. 

Today was such a day.

Mr Doyle approached the sweep domain with a determined stride. Mr Bodie followed at a more sedate pace, and he stopped a good twenty paces away.

Benny Porter stepped away from the sweep mass and bobbed his head to Mr Doyle. "Somethin' I can do for you, Guv?"

"Yes, some private work," Mr Doyle said loudly enough in case someone was within hearing distance. He pulled the sweep to where Mr Bodie waited.

"I am needing anything that strikes you odd. Very out of the ordinary." Mr Doyle decided to start with a vague appeal. 

"Well, with 'Enry Turkel stitched up, the rats are scurrying out of the way of Charlie. He's not sane anymore."

"Was he ever?" Mr Bodie commented automatically.

The sweep looked at the man from the corner of his eye, but spoke to Mr Doyle. "Bottles there?" A slight hitch of his thumb pointed to Mr Bodie.

"No, but with me. A man of principle." Mr Doyle kept his gaze locked on the sweep. "I only have the hint of grave peril." He handed the sweep a card with his new address.

"Check the sketches." Benny nodded his understanding that the card was for emergencies. He turned and disappeared into the night.

"Home, James." Mr Doyle ordered as he entered the cab interior.

"It is Bodie. Mr Bodie, not James." The exasperation sounded feigned even to his own ears.

**Morris Antiquities**  
**The docks**

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle entered the warehouse at precisely eight o'clock in the morning. They headed directly to the spacious room they remembered that was adjacent to the laboratory. The route did not seem as arduous as last time, and they made fewer mistakes. 

Mr Bodie took a minute to check inside the lab for the inventors. He had noticed that Murph had never returned to the new accommodations the previous evening, and was hoping that his mate had remembered to eat. He was able to ascertain with a glance that both inventors had indeed never left the laboratory but empty food and drink containers spoke of nourishment consumed at least.

Mr Bodie did not interrupt the creative process and joined Mr Doyle at the door to the training room.

"Ah, the Major's recruits." Mr Martin came up from behind. The men parted to allow the man entrance to his own facility. 

"Change clothes and we'll get started."

On the wooden pegs overhanging empty boxes were light coloured gauze-like tie trousers and loose- fitting pullover shirts. The men changed under scrutiny without comment.

"Show me what you have. No killing blows." Mr Martin stood arms akimbo at the midway point of the wall. He eyes did not leave his charges.

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle took their places on the mats. They bowed to each other, then took their fighting stances. Mr Doyle was in more of a crouched position, and Mr Bodie took up a more offensive stance. He kicked out at Mr Doyle's foot, Mr Doyle used the swiping movement to flip himself around, but Mr Bodie countered with a fist to the gut. Mr Doyle rolled and up-ended Mr Bodie, but Mr Bodie continued the momentum to a prone position and was up instantly on his knees, wrapping his arms around Mr Doyle's legs and forcing him down to the floor.

Mr Bodie was thrilled. A sparring partner that was his equal at the very least. He had the strength to match him. He would not have to go easy. He could try out new techniques. He would be able to learn, and he would almost bet that Mr Doyle would accept the same. Thought jumbled upon thought, so thrilled at the prospect was he.

Mr Bodie was suitably impressed with Mr Doyle's muscularity as well. The man was deceptively strong. He looked wiry, but the supple flesh was hard. It was quickly evident that he was agile and quick. And his bum was well proportioned. 

Mr Bodie was quite positive that really wasn't important for his fighting style, even if it was well appreciated by his eyes.

Mr Bodie positioned his upper body over his base foot. He kicked up his back leg while launching off of his right foot. His body gained the desired lift and he used the left leg to rotate his body and landed on Mr Doyle's opposite side. He kicked out with his free leg and put Mr Doyle on the floor.

Although Mr Doyle appeared to be down, he was not out. He didn't move a muscle for fear that he would telegraph his next move. Mr Bodie moved closer as if to check on him and Mr Doyle twisted, jumped up onto his feet while remaining in a crouch and kicked up and out, landing on his hands as his feet connected with Mr Bodie's chest and sent him flying backwards.

The oof sound told Mr Doyle that his opponent would still be down. Mr Doyle rolled up into a vault and landed atop Mr Bodie. His momentum drove Mr Bodie back down with a thump and Mr Doyle's weight held him there.

Mr Bodie was not sure what impressed him more, Mr Doyle's hard body, or hard tumescence. As quickly as he was pinned he was released and Mr Bodie had to wonder if he had imagined all that had pinned him. 

Mr Doyle was crouched and waiting. His countenance was watchful but not embarrassed or desirous, just dangerous. Mr Bodie shook away his fanciful thoughts and jumped to re-engage his opponent.

Mr Martin moved onto the floor with his arms spread wide and halted all movement. "You are both well matched. You each have different styles and strengths. I think you would both benefit from learning what the other knows and I would like to add some tactics used by Chinamen as well."

Both men shook off the tension created by the sparring and relaxed as they turned to listen to Mr Martin. "The Shaolin Priests of China may speak of peace but they know how to fight to live."

He demonstrated both offensive and defensive postures, and moves. He completed the lesson by instructing each man the technique of flipping over opponents. He had them practice over and over so that it could become second nature. Once it was truly mastered, he assured them, they would be able to use the same movements to launch themselves while taking down the opponent as well.

Just before the noon hour, Mr Martin halted their practice. "You each have a hot bath waiting for you."

Though he was hot and wet with perspiration, Mr Bodie knew that the hot water would be delightful on his muscles. He moved with celerity in the direction that Mr Martin pointed. He was parched and hoped to find cold water even before the bath. 

A pitcher and cups awaited them next to the towels. Both men quenched their thirst before turning to locate the tubs. There were four, partitioned by Japanese screens. The tubs had feet very similar to that of the hippopotamus, and like said animal, the tub was heavy and would not be easy to relocate. 

Mr Cowley must have long term goals to plan so completely.

After towelling dry and redressing, they made their way back through the Spartan corridors to Mr Cowley's office. They were becoming more familiar with the routes but the lack of adornments left no landmarks to aid in remembering.

Awaiting them there were plates piled high with sandwiches and fresh tea. They ate like hungry badgers, and did not stop until all the food had disappeared.

"Thank you," each man said.

Mr Cowley waved the thanks away. "If we had more time I would make available much more training opportunities, but we do not. So I have endeavoured to sharpen the consummate skills you already possess. This afternoon at a private range, tomorrow morning here with Sensei Sachio, and tomorrow afternoon at the club again." Mr Cowley closed the folders he had open on his desk. "I have an appointment shortly, but I will meet you both at the Army Navy Club at three o'clock." The dismissal was in his tone.

Mr Bodie responded to it immediately. He stood up and said, "Yes, sir." Habits of old were hard to break.

If Mr Cowley possessed a slight smile, it vanished instantly.

Mr Doyle nodded and followed Mr Bodie.

**London Bridge**  
**Old Swan Pier**

Mr Doyle poked his head out of the carriage porthole. His head bounced as they hit every pothole the road had to offer. "Mr Bodie! I shall become ill if you continue to prance back and forth on this infernal bridge." Mr Doyle's tone sounded extremely sharp.

"Pipe down, I am signalling my associate of old. Are you prone to sickness? Is this something I should be made aware of?" Mr Bodie thought it was only a rare possibility as he had been in the cab all of yesterday. Much more likely was he was just being difficult. 

"No, I am not prone to sickness, you daft madman! But you truly are most certainly attracting attention. Are you sure you know what you are doing? And must you catch every hole the road has to offer?" Mr Doyle was caught between exasperation and irritation. He was not sure if that last hole wasn't aimed for himself, alone. Portraying himself as a shrieking violet was not quite the impression he was trying to cultivate. 

Mr Bodie saw what he was looking for and pointed the cab down toward the water. He stopped alongside the quay entrance and jumped to the ground. Mr Doyle joined him but not before he went through the motions of straightening his clothing. His pointed look was chastising but Mr Bodie only laughed.

They walked down the merchant's ramp and waited as a barge came up along side the dock. Ropes came flying over the sides and Mr Bodie caught them and lashed them to the pilings.

Mr Bodie looked over the barge and noticed a great deal of augmentation since the last time he had been aboard. The wood was now gleaming and there was a lot more brass, some of it even polished. But it would not be Marty's barge if it were all spit and polish. 

Mr Bodie cupped his hand next to his mouth and called out. "Permission to come aboard."

"Permission granted." Rang out in a sing-song voice.

The gangplank rolled out with a few creaks and settled itself automatically. The gears turned anticlockwise smoothly with hardly any steam emerging. "Murphy will love what you did with this." Mr Bodie grinned at the dark head that appeared at the top of the gangway. Mr Bodie beckoned Mr Doyle to join him. He took a moment as he waited for Mr Doyle to really look around before he stepped up alongside him. The deck had not been redone as had the exterior. The huge, round, black cylinders still hung from above, lashed to masts that were only on the craft as deceptive decoration. Each cylinder was reinforced with thick steel and secured with locks that were bigger than his hand. The clunky cargo haulers were patched to appear smaller than they actually were.

"Mr Doyle. Mr Marty Martell. Marty and I have a shared past. Mr Doyle here is my new partner."

"You are working with a partner?" Mr Martell surprised.

Mr Bodie bobbed his head a couple of times before remarking, "Willingly. Joined with a new man that has saving our London at heart."

"Does this paragon have a name?" Mr Martell had already studied Mr Doyle.

"Major George Cowley." Mr Bodie watched for recognition of the name, and received one.

"He is a mentah, unless I'm mistaken." 

"You are not, and he is the why of our visit. He has wind of a plot against all of London and the Queen, but we are needing more than general specifics. Your unique position allows you to be privy to confidences we are not."

"I am privy to a considerable amount that you are not," Mr Marty Martell answered smartly, the twinkle in his eyes notwithstanding. He forestalled his old mate's questions with a lifted hand. "But I understand what you ask."

Mr Bodie nodded his head as he withdrew a card from an inside pocket. "Where I can be reached. My thanks."

Just a glance at Mr Doyle from the corner of his eye told Mr Bodie of his readiness. They turned about in tandem as one. They were needed elsewhere. They left the way they came.

**Army and Navy Club**  
**Mayfair**

 

Mr Cowley led them inside the 'The Rag Club'. The same sergeant that had greeted them on their last visit was once again standing guard at the door.

"Major." One could almost hear the boot-click in his voice.

"Is Jack ready for us?"

"Yes, sir." The sergeant came to attention. "Go right through, sir."

Mr Cowley nodded his thanks.

Mr Bodie wanted to crack wise about the man never leaving the place, but knew that some military types had no sense of humour to speak of.

They entered an exceptionally large room off to the left that seemed to be broken into little cubicles of targets; all types of difficulties and distances displayed.

Mr Doyle whistled.

"This should be quite fun," Mr Bodie remarked, rubbing his hands together.

"You think you're smack-a-dash, don't you?" Mr Doyle seemed disinclined to believe all the boasting.

"Oh, is that a challenge, Mr I-hold-the-Met-record?" Mr Bodie's stare was a challenge itself.

"Only execution of the targets will tell." Mr Doyle displayed no outward misgivings.

Mr Cowley turned and looked at the men over his glasses. Their images were blurry without aid, but he could well believe that they were young lads squabbling over who would proceed first, who would win, and who was superior. He turned his head to hide any semblance of a smile.

"Today is your standard weaponry. Tomorrow will include the new weapons that Messrs Macklin and Murphy will provide you, or you own yourself. Proficiency is key, gentlemen. We can not harm the Queen's people, well, the innocent ones. The men of ill repute have no such protection. While you are not an assassin squad, you will, at times, have to dispatch some of the fanatics so that all can breath easy."

"I did not sign on to a vigilante squad. Our justice system, though flawed, is the correct idea." Mr Doyle's obvious concern rested in his voice.

Ice blue eyes pierced him to the bone. "Bringing them up for prosecution is not always an option, not while there remains treachery in the Queen's Court, Mr Doyle. At this time, our true priority is this great peril we face. Everything points to it. We must identify those involved and be ready to face it."

"I quite understand." Mr Doyle's voice remained quite neutral though his stance was closed in on himself. 

Mr Bodie was not so sure that the lawful-minded Mr Doyle truly agreed, but the man was still willing to continue with the work.

Before a spirited discussion could ensue, a tall man, also of military bearing, entered the target area and saluted Major Cowley.

"At ease, Jack. I am retired." Mr Cowley replied as though he had all ready replied this way a million times, but returned the salute nonetheless.

"You are always the Major, sir." Jack Crane did relax his shoulders.

The Major nodded. "Lieutenant Crane, Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle." Mr Cowley introduced.

The men shook hands all around. 

"If you would put them through the paces thoroughly, Jack, I would appreciate it." Mr Cowley requested. "Send them along when they are through for the day." He moved his hand slightly, whether as a request or good-bye, it was hard to tell.

All turned to face the set-up behind them. The targets were set up for them in different in degrees of difficulty. The first booth measured standard accuracy. Next was distance, followed by moving selections. Decision-making and evading was usually the most popular.

Both men tested themselves with all the weapons they carried and those provided by Mr Crane. All size pistols emerged from locations on their persons that had been invisible to anyone's eye a moment before.

Mr Doyle and Mr Bodie each drew out a Baker's rifle, a Webley pistol and a Navy Colt. The weaponry did not end there, daggers that originated in Japan and Britannia were brought out from hidden pockets and from behind the back. Joined along side the daggers came trench knives that probably had seen a lot of fighting since their grandparents' time of production.

Target after target, stationary and moving, Mr Bodie hit every one. Most infuriating was that so did Mr Doyle. Mr Doyle, in fact, had made some of his shots look extremely easy. Drat the man. After hitting everything that Mr Crane had provided, both men set up their own contest.

Crazy random combinations of target order, using a mirror, and even from under the arm. Ping and a bang, hit and down, each and every time. 

Mr Crane finally called a halt, no victor to be crowned. No resting on their laurels, it would keep them sharp. "Tomorrow for the innovative armaments. Good day, gentlemen." Mr Crane left them to exit the way they had come.

"Innovative armaments? I bet that many would be illegal by the Metropolitan Police standards," Mr Doyle commented thoughtfully, yet remained quite curious to avail himself of the new weaponry.

"It should not matter. We're not coppers now, after all."

"I do not recall you having been a copper."

"Not that dishonest," Mr Bodie replied, stung at the tone of Mr Doyle's voice.

"Not all coppers are questionable, you know. Some take their jobs and responsibilities quite seriously." Mr Doyle pushed away from the wall and Mr Bodie. His voice was certainly more of a snarl than in previous conversations.

"Was not casting aspersions on your character." Mr Bodie held his hands up in a surrender motion. "Just meant that we do not have a rigid code of operations. By any means necessary can leave room for a lot of interpretation."

"Do not think he wants us to kill 'im before we have the information, though." Mr Doyle was not presently in the mood to have that discussion.

"He might." Mr Bodie followed his new mate to the door.

The sergeant at the desk watched them leave. Just before Mr Doyle pushed open the door the sergeant announced in a commanding voice, "Same time tomorrow."

Stifling their startlement, Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle exited into the afternoon sun that was fated to soon fade away.

"I think a meal is in order." Mr Bodie stopped and faced Mr Doyle. "Care to share it with me?"

Mr Doyle tilted his head to the side as he replied, "I could eat."

They walked back through the park skirting around the palace. They knew that there were several pubs closer to the water. 

"I have not been put through the paces such as that since my army days." Mr Bodie rubbed his right shoulder. "Felt comfortable. You shoot well," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"The Met had their own paces so to speak. Had to requalify each year." Just a smidgen of pride could be heard in his voice.

Mr Bodie noted to himself that while Mr Doyle answered readily enough, he still seemed rather prickly.

Mr Bodie fell silent until Mr Doyle pointed to the way to the Waterloo Quay.

"Take us by the chalk drawings. Want to check if Benny has left a message yet," Mr Doyle explained.

"Why not just ask him?"

"More often than not, he is working. He does the screeving during jobs to keep the coin coming in." Mr Doyle leaned in closer to Mr Bodie. "He believes that it is better if we are not seen in the same space too often." 

Mr Bodie smiled. "His acting in paranoia does not mean he is wrong."

"Of course you would agree, you are probably just as paranoid." Mr Doyle replied.

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong either."

They stopped at each square. The first eight pictures were drawn by a different artist, the next three that Benny had chalked were in pastels, and lodged between the works of a third artist.

"Lovely," Mr Bodie commented as he pointed to the middle drawing.

Mr Doyle leaned in close again. "First picture has a pigeon. That means a message. The second has people running, that means a meet in person and the third is of a sunset. They always mean a meet at the sweep confluence. Where we met him yesterday."

Mr Bodie nodded and had to admit to himself that it was most certainly a creative way to pass information.

They viewed the other drawing with the same intensity to throw off any eyeballs, then meandered off in a real search for a pub. On the opposite side of the park from where they started they located the Aldwych Hen Pub. 

Whether it was a man's local, or just a wee dram stop before heading homeward, the pub was quite full. They found a table but Mr Bodie had to nick a chair from another table that had a spare. After relocating the seat he went to the counter to order their food and fetch two pints. He pulled out the money and placed it down as he checked the faces of those around him. The Lords and Ladies might not frequent the establishment, but neither did the skivers and thieves. Best of all, no one drinking there would recognise him.

He sat as he set the glasses down. "I am quite excited about the new weapons we get to try out tomorrow." Mr Bodie hoped that this would be a safer topic for conversation and not stir up Mr Doyle's objections. 

"After witnessing for myself the odd weapons you possess I am more than willing to try the new ones. The potential of these new-fangled ideas utilising alternative power sources is mind-boggling." Mr Doyle took up the topic with ease.

The meal passed pleasantly. Upon leaving they headed back to the Rag Club to retrieve the cab and head to the chimney confluence.

**Whitechapel and High**  
**Sweep confluence**

 

"Evening, sirs," Benny called aloud. He stepped away quickly from the group of sweeps he was talking with to intersect the protector. He led Mr Doyle and his partner away from the mix.

"And to you," Mr Doyle replied as he waved the sweep over closer.

"Today was a busy one. There's a lot of talk if'n you know where to listen, Guv." Benny stepped in closer to Mr Doyle. "Word is that Culbertson's made a deal with Coogan to split Londinium. Culbertson would retain the docks, Coogan would oversee all else. Unexpected move."

"To say the least. They have been in competition for the most part. So an agreement of any kind seems odd." Mr Doyle shook his head. Both the Coogan's and Culbertson had been on the beat cop watch lists for years. The higher-ups had all but ignored the evidence gathered.

"I thought there would have been fighting for the Turkel's territory." Mr Bodie's surprise was genuine.

"Folks are scared all and about, and not because of this, and they don't trust the coppers. So that will take a few more days. But I will be getting back to ya. Check the usual places." Benny tipped his hat just before he turned abruptly and left.

Mr Bodie waited for Benny to be well on his way before he remarked, "Your blower seems quite loyal to you, not the Met so much."

"Your source of information seems loyal to you as well." Mr Doyle shrugged.

"Ah, but we served together and the trenches creates a camaraderie that is difficult to throw off once established even after we have parted ways."

"The Met is not that different, but I do admit that men in power tend to become unselective in how they keep that power."

"Mr Cowley is a mentah, he is not really the man in power, just the tool," Mr Bodie corrected as he saw it.

"But you are only guessing, we do not as yet have proof." His voice was just short of scorn.

"I have met officers like Mr Cowley. Saw something or followed orders and participated in an action that made them question what they were actually fighting for. Some men might just complain the rest of their lives, but it seems that Mr Cowley has decided to change his circumstance."

"He would have us dispatch some of the fanatics so that all can breathe easy. Are you saying that you will blindly follow what he asks us to do?"

"Key word there, my doubting Mr Doyle, is ask. In service we are ordered without option of declining. Mr Cowley, on the other hand, has requested, implored, but not ordered, no threats or reproachful looks. I can work with that." Mr Bodie was quite forthcoming in conveying his thoughts. "And you?

Deep in thought, Mr Doyle paused before speaking. His head tilted to the side. "Whether I remain or not will rely on what standards we are really expected to follow. Lip service is easy for the leaders but difficult to maintain day-to-day."

"I take your point. I can not imagine that you haven't already encountered lip service, as you call it, yourself." Mr Bodie was now the thoughtful one.

"Enough for a lifetime."

"So, now I must ask, will you see this through? Will you watch my back?" Mr Bodie's tone held no censure, though on close inspection his eyes may not have been so casual.

"I have given my word, is that not enough for you?" Mr Doyle's anger was quick and not hidden.

"Yes, it is. But you have also questioned the use of deadly force, so that does beg the question of will your ethics leave me vulnerable?" Mr Bodie was hoping that Mr Doyle would chose in favour of remaining at his side.

"Of course. Do not doubt that. I am sorry that I was not clear. I was speaking of my thoughts about remaining with Mr Cowley after the completion of this work." 

The sincerity was clear. Mr Bodie was quite relieved. 

After a another moment of silence, Mr Doyle looked to Mr Bodie and said, "We need to . . . "

". . . Check this out," Mr Bodie finished for him. "Away home would be just the thing."

Mr Doyle nodded and they did just that.

**Spring Gardens**  
**Building Seventeen**

 

A young, dark-skinned boy awaited them as Mr Bodie pulled the hansom to a stop in front of the stable. 

The lad popped up onto his feet as he saw Mr Doyle exit the cab. "Mr Doyle, Mr Doyle, my dad said to wait and talk only to you." The lad bounced from foot to foot.

"Mark, it is good to see you. How are Steven, Arthur, and your mother?" Mr Doyle asked as he approached the boy.

"Good. Mother says she has cake waiting for you." The lad rubbed his tummy in short circles. 

"Come inside so I can get you some biscuits for all your waiting." Mr Doyle led him around to the entrance. 

"Biscuits sound just fine."

Mr Bodie held back and used the time to unhitch the horses, brush them down, and set out their feed. He entered the dwelling as Mr Doyle and Mark were shaking hands, and a few pence were exchanged. The lad ran off with a bag of biscuits and a smile.

"A missive from your friend, Jax?" Mr Bodie assumed it was.

"Yes, we meet up with him early tomorrow." Mr Doyle headed back to his flat.

"I do not think I am destined for a lie-in in this new line of work." Mr Bodie sighed, as it appeared he was talking to no one.

The next morning started sooner than even Mr Bodie had anticipated. He was quite positive that he had heard a knock at the door. A single knock, the type of knock that announced they were here but in a shy way. Worst part, though, for Mr Bodie was that the sun was not even peeking out yet. 

He rolled out of bed fully expecting the air to be chilled, but it wasn't. He was not yet used to the uniform temperature created by the steam powered heating. He walked to the door but once there, he did not need to open it. A folded piece of paper had been shoved under the door.

Same place - eight o'clock this morning.

Mr Bodie looked back at the bed with a fondness that was to be denied. He readied himself for the day. His underclothes held secret pockets for money and weapons. His outer clothes held similar secret pockets, one could never be too careful. No sleeve garters were necessary with his Floyd side-button shirt as the shirt was fitted to him. He chose the walnut canvas trousers as the darker colour hid most of the dirt. The waist rivets allowed for items to be hung in the back for when he wore the long frock coats that kept such things hidden. 

Mr Bodie tooled himself up as he did every day.

Mr Doyle joined Mr Bodie in the coach house as he was attaching the horses to the cab.

"I will be most happy when Mr Cowley has filled all the positions," Mr Bodie complained irreverently. "It is difficult to get a good night's sleep."

"I would imagine so when you have visitors before the crack of dawn." Mr Doyle waited for explanation of the nocturnal visitor.

"Marty sent a missive. He has information. We are to meet him at the bridge at eight o'clock." Mr Bodie brushed the straw off his coat then opened the cab door with a flourish. "I do not think that Murphy returned yet again. He will soon need a change of clothes." Mr Bodie climbed up top and guided the horses to the docks.

**Railway Near Docks**  
**Isle of Dogs**

 

Mr Bodie stopped the cab in the same place as he had the previous visit. The morning chill was full of dampness and Mr Bodie kept his coat on this time. He pulled it tighter about him and followed behind Mr Doyle who was wrapped up in a thick coat as well. He wanted to think of Ray Doyle as just Doyle, but he was afraid that he would get so used to it that he would do it aloud and Mr Ray Doyle had not requested that familiarity . . . yet.

They stood together away from the hard working men and waited for Mr Jax to join them. Here, the colour of the skin seemed unimportant, but Mr Bodie knew that just steps away from here they would all be judged by colour and station; sometimes one determined the other.

Mr Bodie watched Mr Doyle's face as he greeted the man with a genuine smile and handclasp. That he trusted the man was in his stance and easy roll of his shoulders. Mr Bodie would accord him the same courtesy until he proved him different.

"Rumour is alive and well. The rail workers, the dock workers, and the shipmen have all been talking about the same thing. For all an intent purposes, Mr Culbertson has agreed to a deal with Paul Coogan. They have agreed to split Londinium. Culbertson wants to retain the docks, and Coogan would oversee all else. Culbertson has his claws deepest in the dock running, but it appears that he is running scared and did not want to lose it all. I don't know what Coogan has on him, but what else could it be?" Mr Jax shook his head.

Mr Doyle shrugged his shoulders as he shook his head, no guess at the time. Mr Bodie made note of the name, not unfamiliar to either man.

Mr Jax spoke again, "And Charlie Turkel is supposed to be taking a run at the gaols. Seems he's forsaken the daily running for an all out effort. Only problem, word is Henry wants to stay in, men in the know say he is frightened about something."

Mr Bodie smiled to himself. Devon Moss has received his justice.

"Jax, I appreciate you getting back to me this quickly. There is definitely something amiss. We will follow through, but let me know if you learn more." Mr Doyle shook his hand before Mr Jax faded back into the mist.

They walked back to the carriage silently and Mr Bodie motioned that they needed to be away for the next meet.

**London Bridge**  
**Old Swan Pier**

 

Mr Bodie turned onto the London bridge. He slowed the horses to a slow walk and the potholes were much easier to abide. The mist seemed heavier here than at the docks. Mr Bodie was sure that the weather conditions suited Marty best and why he elected the early morning meeting time. 

Knowing how far the spoken word could carry out on the water, they walked down to the water silently. Mr Bodie cupped his ear and pointed out over the water. They could hear the craft approaching. It reminded Mr Bodie of the moving walkway from Mr Macklin's lab.

The barge pulled up along side the merchant's ramp, but instead of rope being thrown out, a ramp to board the barge came out instead. Mr Bodie graced Mr Doyle with a by-your-leave gesture and then he followed Mr Doyle onto the craft. His bum was a fine masterpiece even in the obscured condition of clothing.

Mr Martell stepped abruptly out of the fog, but both men had been expecting him and were not shocked.

Mr Bodie rolled his eyes. "Marty, you should not request the meet if you were hoping to startle us."

"Just a bit of theatrics, my boy. Come inside." He led the way onto the bridge. 

Mr Bodie looked about at the walnut panelling and polished brass. "A bit of the fancy in here as well!"

Mr Martell dipped his head. Then the man straightened and his whole demeanour changed. He spoke in earnest. "Bodie, you mentioned Cowley – well his name has always been linked with Leniston and Granger; Howard and Walsh. Militarily they all served together. In the academic and political world they are rumoured to be Queen's mentahs. Well, Leniston and Granger are dead. Both deaths were very recent and very suspicious but were closed as death by misadventure. No one knows where Walsh is."

"The old man was right. What do you hear about the Coogans?" Mr Bodie wished confirmation on Mr Doyle's blower's information.

"Other than Paul is mad?"

"That's not news to anyone!" Mr Bodie grinned.

"I can confirm that he has done a deal with Culbertson for the docks. Rumour has he is looking to do the same type of deal with the remaining Turkel, but it is no secret that Charlie's gone off balmy. Thought for sure that Charlie would be breaking Henry out, but prison guards on the Turkel payroll have heard Henry begging to stay in. Very scared, is that one."

"What is our criminal community coming to?" Mr Bodie's voice didn't convey any real concern. He couldn't help the pride he felt at Henry's situation.

"If you can not depend on criminals to be doing criminal activities . . ." Mr Doyle shook his head, but gave Mr Bodie a slight smile.

Mr Bodie nodded. "Storm's a coming." He pointed up to the round cylinders anchored at the top of the pole. "And Marty, since Murphy gave you the new lightning catcher, I want a full cylinder or three."

**Morris Antiquities**  
**The docks**

 

They hurried from the London Bridge to the docks. Mr Bodie stopped the cab in an area that would remain the shadiest spot through out the day. It was close enough to a water trough that the horses could get water when needed and he placed a food bucket adjacent to it for them as well. Although more than a quarter of an hour early, Mr Bodie knocked soundly on the door of the antiquities warehouse. 

Mr Martin opened the door and nodded to them. "The Major is in his office." He let them find their way on their own. He followed behind at a more sedate pace.

Mr Cowley nodded to the men as acknowledgement to sit down. He looked over their shoulders to Barry Martin behind. "Let Jack know they are here." He looked to the men still standing by the door. "Out with it, then, you did not come early for tea."

Mr Doyle relayed what his blower had brought and what his mate had confirmed. Mr Bodie further confirmed with what his mate had heard.

"Leniston and Granger dead." Mr Cowley pursed his lips as he repeated the names. "Good men. I lost contact a fortnight ago, I had hoped they went into hiding." Mr Cowley took off his glasses, pinched his nose, and sighed. He replaced his glasses as he looked back up at the men. "Walsh is not missing, most are just unaware that Walsh is a woman. The Lady is often overlooked."

Mr Bodie was surprised, few women served unless it was medical, but he could tell, that was not the case with Lady Walsh.

"What about Howard?" Mr Doyle asked. His surprised was quickly masked.

"You will need to warn him. Timely, as he is arriving back from France today. His ship, the Quinn, docks with the tide this evening. Please be there."

"We will, sir." Mr Bodie assured him.

"Good work, keep me appraised of all you hear. The smallest comment could yield great importance. Now, Jack has set up Sensei Sachio in the same room as you were in yesterday." Mr Cowley waved them away."

Mr Bodie followed behind Mr Doyle and he overheard Mr Cowley speak out. "Barry, what do you know of Coogan and Culbertson?"

Sensei Sachio was a small, oriental man. He looked as if a strong wind would blow him over. His full voluptuous robes concealed great strength and agility.

Mr Bodie grabbed Mr Doyle by the arm and pulled him up close so he could whisper in his ear. "Do not be fooled by the man's size. In India, we encountered many such his size and were flattened until we learned to fight differently."

Mr Doyle accepted the warning with a nod.

Sensei Sachio stepped on to the mat and bowed to both men. "Ah Misser Cowley says that one of you are already trained in Bushido. Let us spar." Sensei Sachio produced two bamboo sticks from within his robes. He extended one outward.

Mr Bodie stepped forward and bowed before accepting the stick. He turned his wrist, moving the stick several times in the figure eight pattern. He stepped back and took a starting position.

Three moves later he found himself back flat on the mat, Mr Doyle's chuckles in his ears. Mr Bodie looked at the hand extended to help him stand. No sooner was he on his feet he found himself on the mat again. Mr Doyle's chuckles continued.

Mr Bodie stood of his own volition. He brushed off his clothes before he shook his head. "It was never quite like this when I sparred with my original instructor." Mr Bodie smiled as he bowed.

"You have the basics. You just need to perfect your technique. You practice while I demonstrate for your partner."

Sensei Sachio turned to face Mr Doyle. "You watch, then you imitate. You must strike the target points in succession, left and right, left and right. Practising centring, and judging distance, while building spirit and stamina. Must do all at same time." He produced another bamboo stick and handed it to Mr Doyle.

Mr Doyle mimicked Mr Bodie's bow and stance. The sensei ran the drills and Mr Doyle followed, Mr Bodie followed as well. On the mat, back on their feet, with the stick and without. The sensei demonstrated offensive and defensive moves. He had each man repeat again and again.

Mid morning he paused. "You no expert today, you no expert tomorrow, but with lots of practice, soon you will be." He bowed. "We resume in quarter hour.

Mr Bodie went in search of a cup of tea. The sensei's word use of partner came back to him. Not yet, but Ray Doyle could be. He was strong, smart and a good shot. He was his equal, like none other that had crossed his path to date. He was a bit rat-tempered, but easy on the eyes. 

The sensei called them back to the mat. "Karate is a striking art using punching, kicking, knee strikes, and elbow strikes. One can advance to open hand techniques such as knife-hands, spear-hands, and palm-heel strikes. Mr Doyle, what are you familiar with?"

"Punching, kicking, knee strikes, and a few open hand strikes," Mr Doyle answered.

"Ah, very good. Now, let us spar."

This time around, Mr Bodie was able to provide a few chuckles when Mr Doyle landed on the mat. He waved to him with a smile as he watched him get up. 

Mr Doyle found himself on the floor as many times as Mr Bodie had. He was not sure that this was something they should strive to be equal in. Mr Bodie waved again. Bastard.

The sensei demonstrated in slow motion movements, and the men would mimic at the same slow speed. Each repetition seemed to be faster until they were zipping through the moves. The sensei practised all the desired moves with them, requiring them to repeat the movements and techniques over and over until they had mastered them. They were fully perspiring by the time they were done.

"We will work at putting them together tomorrow." The sensei completed the morning's lesson by reinforcing what they had learned yesterday -the flipping over the opponent's back to launch themselves while taking down the opponent as well. 

When they had demonstrated that they were more proficient that when they started then were finished for this session.

"'Til tomorrow." The sensei bowed and Messrs Bodie and Doyle bowed in return.

Just before the noon hour, the same as yesterday, Jack Crane appeared and announced, "You each have a hot bath waiting for you."

The students bowed again to the sensei before they hurried off to soak their tired bodies.

There were cheeses, breads, and meats awaiting them after they had finished with their ablutions. Mr Bodie prepared his tea and one for Mr Doyle, copying what the man had done the day before. He held the cup out for Mr Doyle as Jack Crane entered with both Mr Macklin and Murphy.

"Mr Cowley believes innovation will be an important factor in this war. He believes, as well, that you both are the crusaders that can bring it to fruition. We can provide the innovative tools for you to wield." Mr Crane proved his belief in George Cowley by the conviction in his voice

"I am quite content with the standard lead ammunition pistols. They will stop most assailants," Mr Doyle felt compelled to point out as he looked over to the unusual weaponry.

"They have their place but are noisy and are time-consuming to reload. When precious seconds are crucial between life and death, let us become more creative." Mr Crane hand gestured for Mr Macklin to speak up.

"Traditional weapons," Mr Macklin looked over at Mr Doyle as he spoke, "have done the job for centuries, but why limit ourselves? I once found myself in a live-or-die situation without a pistol. Using but the resources at hand, I was able to extricate myself. Having weapons that your enemy doesn't have will give you an advantage and that can ultimately give you the leverage to win." The passion lacking in his voice told its own story.

"I am quite pleased with my particle beam long pistol." Mr Bodie gave a head bob to acknowledge his mate Mr Murphy's creation.

"That is indeed well constructed. Ahh, but we have more. Let us increase your arsenal." Mr Macklin stood straighter as he smiled back at Mr Murphy.

A long wooden table displayed the inventor's wares. A veritable feast of weapons in all shapes and sizes lay before them. Mr Bodie itched to lean forward and examine the new weapons, hold them in his hand, but found himself gently propelled back by Mr Macklin, who pushed his arms up to inspect his coat. Mr Macklin performed the same inspection on Mr Doyle. Then, utilising those outer garments, they created secret compartments and stowaway pockets within the folds and added a back lining for each man. Only then did the serious business of creating walking arsenals begin in earnest.

An hour later, Mr Bodie locked eyes with Mr Doyle and smiled. In addition to the spring-loader dart pistol up his sleeve, swing-gear knife secreted in the toe of his boot, he was now the proud owner of a chestplate made from the aether metal alloy that could withstand all lead projectiles. It even could hold off the particle beam laser a long while. 

Mr Doyle was invested with the same enhancements. He received a retractable rope and particle beam long pistol.

But that was not all. Mr Bodie stood amazed as Murphy produced a pair of goggles for each of them. "These will protect your eyes and enhance long range vision by clicking down the appropriate lens. One lens will help you see in smoke and one can help body heat."

They each picked up a pair of goggles and fitted them to their face. Each man flipped back and forth through the multiple lenes. They acted like children with a new play toy. 

"This is a raygun." Mr Macklin held up what looked like a pistol that had been sanded down. Its sleek surface was deceptive as the barrel was twice the diameter of a lead shooting pistol. "This disintegrates metal. It has a small, focused beam that will open vaults or a door lock."

"Well, this looks like fun," Mr Doyle remarked as he advanced on the weapon.

"Bloody fools. This isn't a game." Mr Macklin stopped him with his voice.

"I never thought it was, just an expression of appreciation." Mr Doyle made eye contact with the inventor.

"All of this can save your life."

"And this contraption?" Mr Doyle asked as he picked up a black metal spider-looking device.

Mr Murphy smiled, "I just made this yesterday. The spider leg clamp has eight razor-sharp points that are coated with a fast acting pain enhancer and a truth compeller. Nifty, huh." 

"Is that a four legged spider then?" Mr Bodie pointed to the other metal gadget. 

"Because the softest path to the brain is through the ear, this contraption, as you call it, may look like a four-legged spider, but it can be placed on top of the head. Two of the sharp legs pinch into the head, and the other two jab into the ear. Information will spill forth." Mr Macklin looked exorbitantly pleased with the torture potential.

Mr Bodie pointed to the Bushido staff. "That doesn't look like mine."

"Those bamboo staffs have been enhanced with slots that now contain instant sleeping draught. Strike your opponent and he will become drowsy and eventually fall asleep. It lasts between three and four hours." Again, Mr Murphy grinned with pride. 

"Now, Mr Bodie, your particle beam long pistol is without sound and does not create heat. You can strike and remained unnoticed. But when you are in the fray you can benefit from a directed energy weapon that will cause heat burns. A short blast can be very effective close up. The weapon will maim or kill, and can be repowered with steam or heat." Mr Macklin placed a second particle beam long pistol on the table for Mr Doyle. 

"Lastly for today, these tubes are made with luminiferous aether." Mr Macklin held up several metallic-coloured tubes that glowed with light. "They can come in all sizes and shapes, and generally are long lasting." 

"These are extraordinary." Mr Bodie held them up and turned them on their side as he watched the glow.

"This is more than I had imagined." Mr Doyle looked bemused. He shook the tube, watching all the while.

Jack Crane rubbed his hands together. "Now, gentlemen, we will practice."

**The Sailing Docks**

 

The three-decked, masted ship sailed into the harbour with grace and ease. People on the ground waved to the people standing on the decks to watch the docking. They waved back with excitement. It was immaterial whether they knew folks or not, just the act of greeting fuelled the growing thrill.

Mr Bodie knew that they were waiting for a man of military bearing, but not necessarily dressed as such. Mr Bodie looked for someone who moved the same as Mr Cowley.

Mr Doyle was on lookout. He was watching the crowd, and searching for what he deemed unusual movement. Just an itch, he had said, but he would know it when he felt it.

Mr Bodie had to admire the little toe rag. He would argue until blue in the face about taking risks, but was always up to do the same. The man was more his equal.

The excitement from the gathering crowd could have been contagious if not for the seriousness of their mission. More than likely there was an assassin in this crowd. 

Off the ship first were the privileged, the moneyed aristocratic, the elite. Military personnel were sure to follow, but Mr Bodie's best guess was that Major Howard would elect to disembark in the third wave. The masses pushing their way off should make him difficult to locate. Mr Bodie was indeed afraid of that. Nonetheless, he persevered and watched intently for the solo alighter.

He was rewarded about three-quarters through the mass exit. He was similar in stature and age to Mr Cowley. He signalled Mr Doyle that he had found their quarry.

Both men made their way to the gangplank, Mr Doyle still watching the crowd. Once Mr Howard's foot stepped onto land, Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle flanked the major. Mr Bodie spoke at once.

"Major Cowley sent us. He fears your life is in imminent danger. He wishes to provide you with protective custody."

"So he takes this threat seriously, then?" Mr Howard asked with no fuss.

"Yes, sir. Leniston and Granger are dead." Mr Bodie informed him as he would his commanding officer.

"Walsh?"

"Major Cowley knows."

The Major nodded. "Take me to Cowley."

"This way." Mr Bodie turned his hand to indicate the way. 

Mr Doyle, slightly in front of the duo, vigilant in his watch, apparently only half listening to the exchange, cocked his head, and pushed Howard to the ground quite unceremoniously. "Shooter," he warned Mr Bodie.

A crack of a rifle filled their ears.

Screams and running, panicked people obscured the direction of the gunshot. Mr Bodie bent over both Mr Doyle and Mr Howard, turned his head enough to see into Mr Doyle's eyes. Without words, they agreed to use the frantic commotion to their advantage and get Howard to a less open expanse.

Both men crouched while they kept Howard bent over between them. As the large crowds of frightened people ran for cover, they used them as a shield. They stayed below the sight line of any above and thus the people of their shield were not in danger. Once they were pressed inside a doorway of the drinking house, they made their way straight to an alley exit.

Mr Bodie stopped them before they all stepped outside.

"I will fetch the cab. You both should askew your clothing and wander out alone like intoxicated. I will wait at the south end of the alley. If our assassin lurks about he will be expecting two or three." Mr Bodie disappeared down the alleyway.

The pick-up went off without a hitch. Mr Bodie took a long laborious route back to better enable him to ascertain if they were being followed. When he was sure they were not, he made directly for Mr Cowley's shop.

Mr Macklin must have been watching and waiting for them as he already stood by the door as Mr Bodie stopped the horses. He waved Mr Bodie down. 

"Ello, Major Howard, sir. Please stay seated. Mr Doyle you need to vacate. The Major will be joining Major Howard, and I will transport them to Major Cowley's home."

Mr Cowley walked foward as Mr Macklin finished his explanation. His Brewster Town Coat was pulled tight about him. Mr Bodie still noticed that Mr Cowley was armed.

"Thank you, lads." The Major stepped inside the carriage. 

Mr Macklin climbed on top, took up the reins, and turned the horses away from the docks.

Mr Doyle and Mr Bodie looked to each other, shrugged, and walked inside.

**Commercial Docks**

 

Mr Bodie left the hansom near Morris Antiquities as he had told Murphy earlier. It was a stroke of luck that Mr Doyle's mate, Mr Jax, had a quick job on the docks this night that needed more men to complete. Mr Jax's young son had badgered Mr Cowley enough that he sent word and interrupted their time with Mr Crane at the Rag Club. 

Mr Bodie was glad, though, that they had been able to have several hours of practice with the new weapons and gadgets. Particularly the raygun, spring-loader dart pistol, and the spider-leg clamp. These needed to be perfected to their personal tastes, but quite remarkable nonetheless. Sheaths and holsters had yet to be created to work within the folds of their clothes, but once completed he looked forward to when they could carry them on their persons.

After the young Jax's notification, they had only just enough time to grab some food hastily as they changed into a lower class of clothes that could still hide their weaponry. Mr Jax met them close to the Culbertson area near the water.

"Just work and listen. You'll hear a lot, just don't attract attention to yourselves. This isn't your usual crowd." Mr Jax noticed that his mate of long standing was looking argumentative. "You sound too posh for the most part."

In a Scouse accent as good as they come, Mr Bodie asked, "When do wees get paid, Guv?"

Mr Jax and Mr Doyle turned quickly to face the voice. Mr Jax laughed, "Not bad at all. Now you just have to look the part. Slump and round your shoulders more," he instructed.

Mr Doyle's earlier irritation evaporated as he realised that his friend was worried for their safety. "Don't fret, Charlie, we are better at this than you might think."

"Okay then, let's work."

Hauling the large crates took man-power alone. The mind was not taxed at all. They were able to concentrate on listening. Through the night hours they listened, and grunted when needed to help continue conversations. They heard the usual complaints of working too hard for little enough pay, but they also heard that most thought that the whole Culbertson crew were acting barmy. The workers had been tasked with switching goods from one warehouse to another in the dark of night. They were reminded time and again to stay away from what was now considered Coogan territory. That threat seemed to be enough for the men to work quickly when near Coogan workers. 

They heard about Turkel as well. Seemed that he was battening down hatches for a siege of sorts. That could only mean that Charlie Turkel was planning some kind of attack on the gaol to liberate his brother, who in turn did not want to leave. That it was on for tomorrow night seemed to be the general consensus.

While the information was not new, it did confirm that the timetable was quickening and they needed to uncover what the eventual plans were. 

Close to sunrise, Mr Jax secured their pay and sent them on their way. He stood and watched as Mr Doyle and his companion departed. He turned to leave for home when he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. An older man appeared to be following Mr Doyle and his companion. He paused his forward motion, and snapped his fingers as though he'd forgotten something. He turned and started walking back to the docks. He was able to keep his eyes on the older man who was obviously following the protectors. He watched as long as he could so as to be able to sketch, and describe him to his mate at a later time.

**Morris Antiquities**  
**The docks**

First thing Mr Bodie noticed on their wee hours return was that the hansom was missing. The second thing was that there was still a light burning inside Cowley's store. He pointed to the Antiquities door and a weary Mr Doyle followed his direction. They walked over and knocked. Mr Cowley, himself, answered.

"Been expecting you." He turned off the light before he trailed after them. 

A covered plate of cheese and bread awaited them. Mr Cowley poured the tea and added a dash of whisky to each cup.

Mr Cowley listened without interruption as the men relayed information and impressions of the working vigil. He sat back and asked of Mr Doyle, "Who do you trust there at the Met?"

"There are many good individuals, a lot more than most realise. That being said, the men in the higher ranks do not want to lose their power and will fall in with whatever will keep it for them."

"Then, you should alert the honest men about tomorrow and we will have to be the ones that stop Charlie Turkel." Mr Cowley seemed to be in no doubt that they would fall in with his plans.

A quick look at Mr Doyle assured him that he was agreeable.

Mr Cowley pointed them to the dressing room where they discovered makeshift beds prepared for them. They did not question how they came to be ready, they did not even bother to remove their clothing before the lay down and were asleep.

When Mr Murphy returned to the laboratory later that morning, not only was the hansom again accessible to Mr Bodie, he had also brought in two different missives, both for Mr Doyle. The first was from Benny, and the second from Mr Jax.

Both missives expressed a desire to meet. Since Mr Cowley had already postponed their appointment with Sensei Sachio, Mr Doyle wanted to search out Benny in the park as soon as possible. Mr Jax would be easier to locate anytime in the working day.

Mr Doyle automatically turned to seek out Mr Bodie's readiness to leave. He paused, he could do the meets alone, but he had not even thought on the possibility. Mr Bodie at his side was becoming expected and natural. The combat practice did make for synchronicity. Humm. Only time would tell.

**Hyde Park**

 

The chalk drawings were spectacular and quite different from the last time. They depicted sweeps dancing on rooftops, children skating on ice, and spring blooms in the Queen's garden. The best part was that this time, they did not have to look for clues, for the artist was sitting on the ground drawing another as they approached.

"Lovely work," Mr Doyle said as they stopped by his square. He dropped some coins into the hat.

"Thanks, Guv."

Benny dropped his chalk and looked around before he stood. He cranked his head and looked around a second time before he pointed down to the middle picture. He lowered his voice, "Last night I overheard Steve Ballard talking with the missus. He says that he feared for his life. He's afraid of Culbertson. You street knights can save him." Benny crouched down, picked up his chalk, and continued with his drawing.

Mr Bodie threw some money into the hat. 

"Thank you, Guv."

Messrs Bodie and Doyle headed out into the park until they were well clear of the drawings, all the while making sure they were not being followed or noticed. Only when they were quite positive that they were not being followed, did they circle back around to the hansom. 

Mr Bodie headed the horses to the railway docks, but Mr Doyle's hand stalled the movement.

"We need to stop at Victoria Station. A copper I worked with there will be able to deal with the Turkel situation. I need to give him the particulars."

Mr Bodie nodded and set off for the Victoria Station instead of the docks. It was a busier section of the city and Mr Bodie slowed his cab to match those around him. The horse's hooves on the cobblestone roads made a distinctive sound and would alert all to an approaching cab. He stopped well enough away that the police in the area would not connect his hansom with Mr Doyle's arrival.

He watched the man climb down and could not help but notice how nicely his bum looked pressed tightly against the worn fabric of his working trousers. He wondered what it would feel like to trace each round globe with his fingertips. He pressed his fingers hard against his palm to cease the tingling of his imagination.

Mr Bodie refocused his attentions to the actual going-ons as Mr Doyle spoke with a Bobby quite animatedly. He watched as Mr Doyle almost smiled when the Bobby reached into his coat and pulled out a paper to jot down the particulars.

He had to admit to himself that even on such short acquaintance, he was fascinated and possibly captivated by the mercurial Mr Doyle. His facial expressions were always changing, never to know if his words would be soft or blistering, he really was an enigma. 

Mr Bodie realised that as Mr Doyle shook hands with the Bobby, he would have to shove his thoughts back down deep into the chambers of his mind. He sighed.

"Success." Mr Doyle sounded quite satisfied with himself. "He will find several true coppers that want to see the Turkel empire closed down. He will take care of it. We have to deal with Ballard." 

Mr Bodie nodded, and was finally able to turn the horses toward the railway docks.

**Isle of Dogs**

 

"I think that there is a possibility that we could open a dialog with Ballard. Exchange safety for information," Mr Doyle said as they walked along the railway tracks to meet with Mr Jax. 

"I do believe that our Mr Cowley could be more persuasive as he has the royal contacts."

"You might be on to something, of course, I do not know what yet, but I do believe that your cogs are in working order." Mr Doyle smiled as he said the last.

"I do try to blow out the cobwebs at least once a day." Mr Bodie returned the smile.

Mr Doyle waved his arms and attracted Mr Jax's attention. They waited for him to take his leave and join them. They moved out of the line of sight from most workers.

Mr Jax made quick work in getting over to them. "Thanks for coming, Ray. Last night as you both were leaving, I noticed you had a shadow that seemed sinister. Older man." Mr Jax reached into the coat pocket that he had carried over with him, and pulled out at scrap of wrinkled paper. He straightened it out and thrust it at Mr Doyle. "This is a rough likeness. Do you recognise him?"

They both looked at the drawing and staring back at them was a man who looked very similar to Barry Martin.

Mr Doyle nodded. "Yes, mate, we do. Thank you. You may have just saved our lives." Mr Doyle clapped the man on the back.

Mr Bodie stuck out his hand. Mr Jax took it.

"Thanks." Mr Bodie voice's conveyed his sincerity.

With a bob of his head Mr Jax said, "Watch your backs."

The two men stood without talking as they watched Mr Jax return to his work.

"So what do we tell Mr Cowley?" Mr Doyle asked as they turned to retrace their steps.

Mr Bodie's knitted brow, and his unfocused look let Mr Doyle know that Mr Bodie was thinking over what was asked and what was said.

"They served together. The Major felt loyalty enough to Martin to employ him in his crusade. It will take more that a single sighting of him, that could be easily explained, for Mr Cowley to condemn him."

"You do not think it is easily explained anymore than I do." Mr Doyle sounded sure of his statement.

Mr Bodie could not disagree. "Let us find Ballard today and hide him. Then tell Mr Cowley the tip and see what happens."

"Set a trap?"

"Exactly."

**Morris Antiquities**  
**The docks**

 

By early evening the protectors had located Ballard, convinced him his life was in danger, and had him hidden away on Mr Martell's boat.

Only then did they deliver the news of Mr Ballard's possible defection, and Mr Doyle's original plan to Mr Cowley. Mr Cowley was pleased and extremely delighted with the possibility of ending Culbertson's reign.

"The man is a pirate and smuggler. Where are you meeting Ballard?"

"By the Culbertson docks at Millwall this evening." Mr Bodie repeated the agreed upon information.

"Keep your eyes on Culbertson, he's likely to make a move if Ballard has given himself away," Mr Cowley warned. "Culbertson is an important cog."

**The Culbertson Docks at Millwall**

 

The protectors had agreed with Mr Cowley and headed out early in the day for the meeting. Now in place, they already had a decoy dummy set up. It was made up of old clothes, a hat, and a melon. It would very much appear like a sitting man. It would fool all but those up close.

Mr Bodie stopped the cab well out of sight of the docks where the horses would remain safe and out of the sun. They walked silently past many cargo boxes that had not been there the night before. They approached they area of the meeting carefully. Mr Bodie could hear each of his footfalls, each of Mr Doyle's, and he strained to hear if there were others as well. 

Mist was just starting to make itself known, but not enough yet to impede their view or anyone else's for that matter. Each step brought them closer to the decoy and they appeared to be alone. 

Mr Bodie could not shake the feeling that there were indeed others about, he just could not hear them.

"See anyone?" Mr Bodie whispered.

Mr Doyle shook his head slowly, eyes darting, ever watchful.

Both men heard the crack of a pistol being fired. The melon exploded outward splashing them both with fruit bits and juice. Mr Bodie launched his wet body over Mr Doyle as soon as they heard a second, different pistol fire. They heard a thud of a body, not their own, fall not far from where they lay. Then footsteps approached, and they readied themselves with little movement.

Mr Jax stepped forward and two red dots targeted him immediately mid-chest. He stopped and looked down first, then up. He shrugged. "I just didn't trust that man." His thumb moved to indicate the lump lying on the ground behind him.

Both men dropped their arms and put their pistols away. 

Mr Doyle untangled himself from Mr Bodie's limbs, then stood. "Thank you, old friend. I seem to be saying that a lot of late."

"Saw him creeping around earlier but when he climbed the cargo box, I knew it wasn't to meet a lady," Mr Jax explained easily as he stowed his own weapon.

"Quite happy that you were suspicious." Mr Bodie smiled at him. They turned to the body that was still moving. "We need to take him to Mr Cowley. I'll get the carriage."

Mr Jax helped Mr Doyle bundle Barry Martin so he wouldn't drip blood. Mr Doyle wanted Mr Jax to accompany them back. He figured that his observations would be necessary for Mr Cowley, and a full explanation.

**Morris Antiquities**

 

Mr Bodie jumped down from the driver's seat and moved quickly to get the cab door open for Mr Doyle's package to be moved.

The light from the antiquities shop was already on and was bright enough for easy movement. Mr Bodie could see that Mr Cowley was on hand and already alerted to their presence. "Do you have Ballard?" he called out.

"No. Not…" Mr Bodie opened his mouth to explain, but Mr Cowley interrupted.

"So, you have failed. You did not maintain observation of your subject."

"You misunderstand," Mr Bodie interrupted the man boldly. "Ballard was not our subject, Barry Martin was the subject of our observation."

"Martin? Why would you waste your time with Martin? Ballard was your target. Where is Ballard?"

"Mr Martin certainly did not want us to. He took a shot at us." Mr Bodie held the door open for Mr Doyle, Mr Jax, and the bundle they carried between them.

"That is Barry Martin, and if he had his way, Ballard would be lying dead from gunshot. Only Mr Jax, here, prevented it."

By this time, Mr Doyle had Barry Martin unswaddled. The chest wound was still bleeding.

"Barry." Mr Cowley crouched down to the body, his voice full of disappointment.

Barry Martin opened his eyes at Mr Cowley's voice. "Sorry Major. I just wanted to retire with money. Culbertson understood that. I set up a place in Spain for old times." He reached out and clutched the Major's shirt. "Major, Culbertson isn't top dog anymore, John Coogan is." His eyes rolled up and he fell back dead.

A pained silence descended until all that could be heard were the breaths taken by the living.

**Waterloo Bridge**  
**The Thames**

 

In the early hours before dawn, Mr Bodie, along with Mr Doyle, collected the carriage left standing directly outside of Mr Cowley's warehouse. Mr Doyle climbed all the way up as he had elected to sit on top even though crowded as they travelled to intersect the Martell floating safe house on the Thames.

Mr Cowley had to all appearances exhibited the desire to deal with Barry Martin on his own. Even chances were that Brian Macklin would be there to aid him in what needed to be done.

Mr Bodie, unused to having a companion in the driver's seat, peered at Mr Doyle out of the corner of his eye. The expressions he saw flitting across the man's face gave thought that he was arguing with himself.

"Who won?" Mr Bodie asked when it looked to be resolved.

"Won what?" The bafflement was not feigned.

"The argument you were having with yourself."

Mr Doyle rolled his eyes, then turned his face away. The jaw muscles worked as if he was preparing to speak.

Mr Bodie kept his eyes on Mr Doyle.

"I have not quite decided if I should say thank you or what the hell was that?" Mr Doyle answered honesty.

It was Mr Bodie's turn to look baffled.

"Playing mister big protector back there during the gun-fire." His voice had an edge to it.

Mr Bodie shrugged. "Just an automatic response. Get down, get everyone else down."

"I am to work with you, not be protected by you."

"Not much difference to me. If we are to work like partners, then I protect you and you protect me. There should be plenty of chances to get one's self killed." Mr Bodie shrugged the concern away. If he had felt slightly more protective than the usual, he certainly was not going to mention the fact to the rat-tempered man next to him.

"Well, then, thank you, I think." He didn't look Mr Bodie in the eye, just kept his face turned forward.

Mr Bodie changed his posture and an impish quality entered his voice. "Well, to continue being Street Knights, there needs to be the two of us." He smiled easily.

"Street Knights?"

"Benny called us that." Mr Bodie puffed up a bit.

"Been called worse." Mr Doyle smiled back.

They moved along in the direction of the Thames. 

Mr Bodie rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. "We need to start using the chestplates daily." Already he was feeling great concern for Mr Doyle's safety, and he was surprised at how instinctual it was and how natural it felt. 

"We need to tool up and stay that way as well." Mr Doyle nodded his agreement.

"I am sure that tomorrow will yield our new accessories." Mr Bodie rubbed his hands together.

"It will take some getting used to, all this additional armament." Mr Doyle's head tilted at an angle.

"Well, I quite like it." 

"Of course you do." Mr Doyle's grin was infectious.

They arrived near the Waterloo Bridge soon enough. This time Mr Bodie brought the cab up as close on the dock to where Mr Martell's boat was anchored.

They walked down the ramp as Mr Bodie whistled a song purposely off key.

Mr Bodie stopped as soon as he saw a person step out from the mist. He actually waited to speak out until he saw Mr Martell. "I am here to relieve you of our burden with great appreciation of its care."

"It evens the odds only slightly." The line was spoken as if it had been said many times before.

Mr Doyle moved to take custody of the man following close behind Mr Martell, Steve Ballard. He was shadowing every footfall. "We have a safe place for you after you have talked with Mr Cowley." He separated him from Mr Bodie's mate and guided him back up the ramp.

Marty Martell stepped away from the others and he looked about as was his habit, continually checking that they were not overheard even though they were alone on the water. He leaned in close to Mr Bodie. "Coogan has been reported to be stockpiling provisions."

"Armaments?"

"Not just weaponry alone. Food stocks, burning fuel, construction materials, and many items not generally associated with that mob." Marty pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.

"Is he building an army?"

"Not that I have heard. "

Mr Bodie did not let his great curiosity show. "If you hear more on the Coogans, let me know." 

"Ah, Bodie, as you requested." Mr Martell handed off to Mr Bodie three slender cylinders with heavy metal lids that had just appeared at his elbow. 

Mr Bodie saw a short man disappear off the deck as silently as he had appeared. He cradled the cylinders under his arm. "Thank you, old friend."

Mr Martell tipped his hat and stepped back into the heart of his boat.

Mr Bodie left the way he came and disappeared into the oncoming fog to join Mr Doyle. 

Mr Doyle looked curiously at the long cylinders. "What do you have there?"

"Back up."

**Morris Antiquities**

 

They returned to Mr Cowley's place to find order restored and Mr Jax sharing a pot of tea with the man himself.

The solemn Mr Jax was no more. In his place, there was a beaming, animated man who turned to greet Mr Doyle with gratification.

"Mr Cowley has offered me a position. Thank you, Ray." He stood and stepped forward to grasp Ray's hand and shake it with enthusiasm.

Mr Doyle looked quickly at Mr Cowley, who wore his usual enigmatic expression. Mr Doyle answered honestly. "I think your actions spoke for themselves. Your actions saved both our lives." He indicated Mr Bodie with his thumb. "It will be good to have more trusted help in our task." 

Mr Cowley took back the conversation as Messrs Bodie and Doyle slid into the empty seats. "First, the usual business when obtaining employment. I have a block of flats in front of the old mews, off Spring Gardens. Building Seventeen has its own paddock. There is a groom and coachman cottage located next to the paddocks. It would suit your family better over the individual flats. Your sons can take over the groom and coachman duties, providing them with a safer way to earn extra coin."

Mr Jax was too overjoyed to speak. He just nodded his head in agreement.

"Your pay will be issued weekly. Vital expenditures will be turned in monthly. The same applies for your sons. You will receive specialised training, just as Mr Bodie, and Mr Doyle here. You will be provided with weaponry that will be able to be concealed on your person. Your colour will allow you access to places these men could not blend. Your service to the Queen will not be unappreciated." Mr Cowley stood up. "Now, I will leave to arrange your accommodations, and you two can bring Jax up to date on our current situation."

The bemused Mr Jax quickly became serious as all the information collected was shared with him. 

Mr Bodie offered him the use of his cab for transporting his family and belongings. Mr Jax nodded his thanks and left straight away.

Mr Bodie bowed to Mr Doyle. "I think we have a date with Sensei Sachio."

**Morris Antiquities**  
**Mr Cowley's Office**

 

George Cowley, Queen's mentah, sat at his desk and stared at the blank wall. His thoughts needed to be gathered and placed. Barry Martin, a turncoat. Culbertson giving up three-quarters of his territory with no blood spilled. Ballard running scared. Coogan, out of nowhere, appears and starts taking over, hoarding provisions and guns. Two mentahs dead. Howard and Walsh, still alive as he was.

He stood and moved around to the front of his desk and pushed it back slightly. He straightened the piles of supplies that littered his desktop; string, papers, glue balls, scissors, and a stack of drawings supplied by Macklin. He picked up a drawing of the Queen, and adhered it to the centre of his blank wall. He picked up a drawing of each member of the Queen's Court, and affixed him or her to the wall in a half arc below the Queen.

Andrew Drake. Katherine Ross. Nigel Dawson. Geraldine Mather. Mr William. Mr Graham.

William was a good man. They had served together. Graham, through had always aligned himself with Dawson, and that man was a snake. Mather only cared for herself and standing, and of course power, her guiding light. At least Drake and Ross truly served the Queen and all of Britannia.

He picked up the drawing of the five mentahs, and placed them in a half arc above the Queen. Leniston, Granger, Howard, Walsh, and Cowley. With a heavy sigh, Mr Cowley picked up the black string from his desktop and marked a big X across each of the dead mentahs, Leniston, and Granger.

On the wall, left of the Queen, he affixed drawings of Messrs Coogan, Culbertson, and the Tukel Brothers. On the right of the Queen he affixed drawings of Messrs Macklin, Martin, Bodie, Doyle, Murphy, and Jax. He placed a black string X across the face of Barry Martin. Then he took a red string and connected Mr Martin to Mr Culbertson on the criminal side and another that connected Martin to himself on the mentah row. He stood back and studied his puzzle.

**Morris Antiquities**  
**Workout Studio**

 

Sensei Sachio stepped onto the mat and bowed. "We will review the Karate punching, kicking, and open hand techniques of last lesson. Then we will explore ju-jitsu. A martial art, and combat sport. It is a self defence system that focuses on grappling, especially ground fighting."

Mr Doyle stepped forward and bowed. His Karate was sharp and accurate. They sparred back and forth, Sensei held very little back. Mr Doyle was more evenly matched this encounter as he knew what to expect. The instructor switched to kicking, and eventually to the open hand fighting. Mr Doyle parried every blow and took the fight to him.

All the while, Mr Bodie watched as Mr Doyle twisted, flipped and hit back. His body was lithe and quick. He was all muscle, and he moved with an effortless grace that was mesmerising. Mr Bodie caught himself, drool wouldn't look appropriate and would be hard to explain. This man preoccupied his thoughts far too much of the time. It could be because the man leaned lazily against walls, tables, fences, and even the cab. Each and every time he leaned Mr Bodie wished that he were the one being leaned against. 

The man was insightful, cynical and snarky. Yet, at the same time, he was kind, considerate, and introspective. An enigma that was sure to cause great havoc because he had already proved to be an outstanding partner in just a week's time.

Mr Bodie was quite relieved that it was his turn to get beaten and bruised.

**Morris Antiquities**  
**Mr Cowley's Office**

 

Mr Cowley sat alone, and still as he studied his puzzle board. Isolated, the individual occurrences seem random, and possessed no viewable pattern. On the other hand, if one gathered them all together and viewed it as parts of one whole occurrence, then the chain of deduction led the savvy Mr Cowley to the only conclusion that the facts presented; a well constructed threat against all of Londinium, and eventually the Queen herself. All these people would play a part. If he was right and there was every chance that he was, then two of her inside Court were plotting against her.

The responsibilities of a mentah were formidable and he was always prepared for the task, but to present to Her Majesty that two of her trusted confidants were traitors he would need more than his skilled opinion alone.

"Mr Jax," Mr Cowley called out.

A quickness of steps could be heard before a head popped around the door opening. "I heard you call."

"Have you finished procuring all the weapons you requested?"

"Yes, sir, I have. Thank you. Your inventors are quite innovative." Mr Jax patted his newly acquired particle beam rifle.

"I have a seemingly servile errand that I can only trust to one of my men." 

Mr Jax understood the trust that was already being projected toward him. "What do you need done?"

"Take this letter to Lady Walsh and wait for an answer. If she intends to come immediately, then please escort her. No one else, save Bodie and Doyle, should know of this." The sting of Barry Martin was still too fresh for the mentah.

"Never a doubt, sir." Mr Jax turned around went out the door.

**Limehouse Dock Area**  
**River Thames**

"So, between Marty's information, coupled with Benny's, and the blower Ballard's complete drop on Culberton's dealings, the Coogan name has been bandied about quite a bit," Mr Bodie mused aloud for the umpteenth time.

"And when Ballard had told Mr Cowley that Culbertson had been acting strange, and scared, he maintained that Culbertson had never showed fear before his direct dealings with John Coogan," Mr Doyle answered, again for the umpteenth time since they left the Sensei behind at the antiquities shop.

"And combine that with Charles Turkel's failed siege on the gaol holding his brother, oh, I wish we could have seen that. And now you have lots of rats running for new cover, or working hard at not being discovered where they are currently hiding." Mr Bodie took his eye away from his spyglass and looked at the man crouched beside him.

"So, no matter how you look at it we end up on the docks," Mr Doyle finished the summation of their boredom.

They crept about the cargo boxes that were loaded on the dock. They looked for containers that had no immediate travel markings. They both figured that the boxes contained contraband, but had decided that the goal was to remain out of view. They had searched what they could but the area was well manned. They found themselves a spot atop the tallest cargo box that was littered with multiple smaller boxes that aided in their concealment.

"See to the left. That's the fourth time today that I have seen that same hat," Mr Doyle whispered without turning his head, spyglass pressed close to his eye.

"Blond hair, Prussian. Hat has seen better days," Mr Bodie agreed. "I am quite sure he was near the warehouses yesterday as well. But he is not working there, I find that most interesting."

"I do not get the feeling that he's with Coogan or Culbertson's lot." Mr Doyle turned to catch Mr Bodie's expression of agreement. He returned to his spyglass.

"He is not following us, so he must be hunting one of them." Mr Bodie tapped his nose. "Think we need to have a discussion with him."

"I concur. Question before us is when?"

"Before we explore the manager's office that is, of course, not an office from the outside. I think we look for him at evening, possibly this evening." Mr Bodie was looking through his spyglass but it rested on the man they were discussing.

"Not an obvious office at least. Let's keep our eyes on the Prussian and follow him. We need to get a firm schedule of the comings and goings and we need a record of the faces. I foresee a day or two more doing just this."

"Be still my heart."

Mr Doyle reached into an inner pocket of his coat and drew out a writing tablet and drawing pencil. He scribbled for several minutes, flipping pages over again and again. Finally, after he appeared to tire of the project, he handed the tablet to Mr Bodie.

Mr Bodie looked down at amazing depictions of the men they had seen hanging about. The likenesses were remarkable. It would be easy for anyone to recognise the men. The Prussian was included.

"Nice ability. You should boast about it." Mr Bodie handed the tablet back to partner. He watched the man closely.

"Never seemed worth mentioning. Always been able to do it." Mr Doyle shrugged the compliment away. He seemed pleased nonetheless.

"I am thinking Mr Cowley will find it quite useful." Mr Bodie tilted his head. "Any more secrets I should know about?"

"Oh, I am sure there are quite a few." Mr Doyle's eyebrows rose together.

"Humm." Mr Bodie's eyes narrowed. "I plan to learn them."

Mr Doyle answered with his own, "Humm." He was unsure if it were a promise or a threat.

**Spring Gardens**

 

Mr Bodie locked the door of his flat and pocketed his key before he turned around to find Mr Doyle leaning against the stairwell door. He gave him a confused look.

"You have not had enough excitement for one day?" Mr Doyle did not move a muscle, just waited for an answer.

Mr Bodie sighed, "I have been—neglectful of my old duties, I made a promise to myself to not allow that."

"Which duties exactly?" His face wore a puzzled look.

"The safekeeping of my area." Mr Bodie's voice was almost defensive.

"We really have not been here long enough to know any of our neighbours. I have yet to see Macklin or Murphy. I have seen Jax more, and he just moved in."

"My old neighbourhood. I was keeping the ruffians out." Mr Bodie was looking past Mr Doyle's head.

"You do not live there anymore. You should let someone else fill the gap," Mr Doyle said softly.

"They are good, hard-working people that put all their energy into taking care of their families. I was keeping the neighbourhood safe."

"They cannot still expect you to continue to do it." Mr Doyle's voice remained soft.

"They never knew it was me." The tone of his voce was like an old secret coming to light for the first time.

"Then why?" No censure was in Mr Doyle's voice, only curiosity.

"Because I could."

"That has to come from someplace." Mr Doyle was working it like a dog with a bone.

"An important person in my youth showed by example how cataclysmic an unsolicited good deed could be. Years later before he died he conveyed how important it was to perform such deeds if one could."

"I see." Mr Doyle's nod was one of understanding, but his eyes said that he knew that there was a whole lot more to that story. "Might be easier if you had company." Mr Doyle unblocked the door, then opened it to motion Mr Bodie through.

"Might be." Mr Bodie pointed for Mr Doyle to go first and he followed behind with a smile.

Stopping the usual thuggery was quite enjoyable with Mr Doyle at his side. He seemed to know without words when to fade into the shadows or step into the fray to distract. Mr Bodie could not remember any time past that another could work in tandem with him this way.

A punch to the face, a swipe at his leg and the mutcher was down and restrained awaiting the local constabulary to pick him up. All the while their faces remained unseen.

They headed back to Spring Gardens with a nod of agreement.

**Docks at Millwall**

 

It was another day at the docks. Neither man wanted to spend their entire day with limited viewing atop cargo crates, so they worked light labour arranged by Mr Jax. It gave the two men the freedom to move about without seeming out of place.

The public docks where Mr Jax had usually worked continued to be far more active than the Culbertson docks, or the area that Coogan was said to be controlling. The high traffic activity that was generally associated with these docks was down to just a quarter of its usual commerce. 

They heard the Coogan name mentioned a considerable amount of the time but they never saw the man. All they had was a vague drawing. Mr Doyle assured them that when John Coogan showed up, he would have a parade of people around him.

No less than five times did they see the Prussian's hat bobbing about through the crowd and singularly about in isolated areas. It was obvious to them that the man was looking for something. He was attracting attention and not all of it would be beneficial to his health. 

"This afternoon we must confront him." Mr Doyle shook his head as he pointed to the distinctive hat once again.

"Only after we follow him about a bit." Mr Bodie turned his spyglass to follow the man.

"I think we will make a detective out of you yet." Mr Doyle's tone was a cross between wide-eyed surprise and tongue-in-cheek delivery.

"First and foremost, though, I need to be fed."

"I'll post an alert in our local periodical."

"Har, har."

They walked up from the dock area and headed to the McMann Public House. The food and drink in that establishment had yet to fail. They were not the only ones with that idea. The pub was full of patrons.

Mr Doyle procured a table as Mr Bodie placed their requests at the counter. He did carry back two half-pints and placed them on the table without a drop spilling. Mr Bodie took a pull on his libation as he turned his head and checked out the clientele. Mr Doyle did much the same. 

There were many men that had worked with Mr Jax. There were equally as many that worked for Culbertson. The few that they had identified as Coogan's men were not found within this establishment. That seemed odd within itself. Coogan must have something to worry about that he could not trust his own people to work here.

They received their ploughman plates and Mr Bodie tucked immediately in to the fare. Mr Doyle was speaking on the advantages of swimming as his cover conversation, and did not pause for a second as he jabbed Mr Bodie under the table and directed his eyes to the newcomer.

The blond man that had been on their radar the last several days entered the pub. He ordered and paid for a bread and cheese meal with a half-pint. He sat alone by the window.

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle never paused in their conversation about swimming, but both watched the man by keeping him in their peripheral vision. They stretched their own mealtime to finish just prior to their mystery man.

The blond stood but didn't look around, just left quietly. Both men followed without undue haste, not wanting to be remembered.

Their quarry weaved his way between supply crates and warehouses using an indirect route to the Thames. He worked his way methodically through each of the boats docked. He showed each a picture and received a negative head shake at each stop. When he finished with the lot and turned to leave a ship-hand pulled him in between a slip. There was much hand gesturing and a shoulder grip by the blond before he turned to depart. 

The Prussian headed back to dock and was about to pass by them. Mr Doyle put his hand out to tap the blond man on the shoulder when he found himself grabbed and flipped onto his back. A foot was placed on Mr Doyle's chest. The blond man had a knife out and pointed it at Mr Bodie, who already had his standard pistol out and pointed back at the man.

He did not seem to care. "Don't mess with me unless you can tell me where my sister is. Already seen that you are not with that lot." His head movement indicated the warehouses. "What do you know?"

The blond had let himself become distracted by Mr Bodie's mouth movement, desperately hoping for an answer, and Mr Doyle used the moment to his advantage. He grabbed the foot on his chest and wrapped it up to his elbow tipping the man effectively onto his face. Mr Bodie kicked the knife out of reach.

The blond turned onto his back slowly and found himself pinned as each street knight stepped on to an arm.

Mr Bodie waved his pistol at the supine man. "I think it is time we had ourselves an amicable discussion. What do you think, Mr Doyle?"

"Lying on his back?" Mr Doyle only appeared to be curious and calm.

"I think that is up to our new friend here." Mr Bodie glared pointedly at the man unresisting on the ground.

"Sitting, danke."

"Prussian?"

"Ja."

In unison without looking at each other they stepped off his chest and each offered a hand up. 

"You have been haunting the docks for a week, now, why?"

"My sister is missing and was last seen at the docks. She had been very excited to attend a party. John Coogan was name on invite. I come to his docks to ask him. Can not find him or my sister."

"How long has she been missing?" the ever-practical Mr Doyle asked.

"Two weeks tomorrow." The sitting Prussian looked awkward on the ground.

Without looking at each other, they both offered the man a hand to stand. 

"You need to meet our boss." Mr Doyle dusted himself off.

After standing, the Prussian did the same. He looked imploringly at the two men. "Will he help?"

"He will try." Mr Bodie made no promises.

**Morris Antiquities**

 

They led him to Morris Antiquities, and Mr Cowley.

"My only sister disappeared here in London. I will stay until I find her." The Prussian voice told its own story of how comfortable he was with English.

"What has let you suspect John Coogan?" Mr Cowley asked quietly, ever curious to discover more of London's nemesis.

"Ja, he is the one. My family was on holiday in London, for my sister's first trip abroad. She was introduced to Paul Coogan. My father was enamoured of his status and wealth. He thought he was a gentleman with honour. He is anything but. They thought me a too protective brother. Now, she could be dead as so many others. I have learned that is the fate of most he courts."

"Others?" Mr Cowley leaned forward intently.

"I have heard that others, like my Lisel, have been invited for the weekend and never return home. He has said that they leave of their own free will and what they get involved in after is not his responsibility. They have found some missing girls in the Thames with opiate marks on their skin or just bruises from a beating. She has not been found. I have hope." The Prussian accepted the cup of tea handed to him by Mr Bodie with a nod

"We will do what we can to aid you. We have our own reasons to become involved in the business of John Coogan." Mr Cowley tone was genuine.

The Prussian took it as such.

"The boat handler at the dock recognised her. Saw her just last week. As I said, I have hope." Mr Anson bobbed his head several times.

**Coogan-Culbertson  
**Dock area****

The next three days could be considered the most boring, as well as the most enjoyable, Mr Bodie had experienced in a long time. 

The hard work as labourers was not as demanding as what Sensei Sachio would put them through each morning. While Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle perfected their fighting skills, Mr Jax was out at the rail yard docks still working his day job. It behoved the operation for him to stay in the mix of it all, and Mr Jax was exceptionally pleased with the extra money that could afford his wife to remain in their new residence. She took to leaving extra meals for the lads at Building Seventeen 

Mr Anson, temporarily consigned, continued to do as he had done, haunt the docks seeking information on his sister. In addition, he was to keep an ear to the ground to learn all he could of Coogan, Culbertson and even the floundering Turkel operation. 

It was the vigil business that numbed Mr Bodie's head. Tedious, endless, boring, and ongoing, from noon until midnight. Then, just when he was ready to throw himself off the highest cargo box, Mr Doyle would speak. 

Mr Bodie watched through the spyglass to memorise the comings and goings of their target. Mr Doyle would draw each of the different people that showed up. He tallied the repeat personage. They both knew that the oddly large cargo container was in fact the headquarters of the Coogan dock workers, and was rarely left unmanned. 

Each day was essentially the same . . . except for the stories and anecdotes of Mr Doyle's life. As he drew the faces, he absentmindedly answered questions about his life, and he would speak of home in his youth. His mother chasing him about the barn had almost brought tears to his eyes. The tales of the long tables containing fresh bake goods. How he, and his brother, would stand tippy-toed to peak over the edge of that table, and see row after row of pies, biscuits, and cakes. They stole a nibble here or a lick there. Mr Bodie refused to think of his bleak upbringing, and instead, lived a childhood vicariously through Mr Doyle's stories. 

He would never have traded the closeness and rapport that grew between them during the long vigil, not even for the finest meal. 

When Mr Doyle expected some stories in return, to prevent him from crying foul, Mr Bodie spoke of his travels with Marty and others. 

"What others?" 

"Should we encounter them, I will endeavour to point them out." 

"You just fear that I will find out your secrets." 

"I am in fear of that frequently." 

Mr Doyle tilted his head and spoke loudly of doubting the veracity of that statement. "You seem quite brave most of the time." 

"Then I must be an accomplished liar as well." 

"Now that I believe." Mr Doyle couldn't help the smile that escaped. 

They were together through training. They were together through the vigil hours. They were together as they carried out errands. They were together for meals, and Mr Bodie had yet to tire of his time spent in Ray Doyle's company. What was he to make of that?

His scent was earthy, even after a long day. His curls never seemed out of place. His clothes fit as close as decently possible. The most perplexing anomaly was his face. Sometimes his looks would leave him breathless, other times he looked ratty enough that the wild animals would leave him be. Each day, each expression, he never knew what would greet him. And the man truly occupied exceedingly too much time of his thoughts. Yet, he wouldn't change a thing.

By the end of the third day, Mr Doyle had three stacks of drawings but little else. It was time to confront Mr Cowley.

**Morris Antiquities**

 

Mr Bodie leaned forward as he placed his hands on Mr Cowley's desk. "Three days and neither Coogan has put in an appearance. I think this vigil has yielded as much as it will."

Mr Doyle nodded his head. "We have schedules and statistics of all the repeat personnel. We have the maps and plans. Our time would be better served seeking out Coogan himself."

Mr Cowley nodded his head. "I agree. I've secured you both an invitation to tonight's ball. Coogan has been invited as well." He handed to Mr Bodie two elaborately embellished printed invitations.

Mr Bodie looked at his invitation and Mr Doyle's as he passed it over. "Well, not quite ourselves."

"Two gentlemen of fine breeding."

"One and one that is most questionable." Mr Bodie's eyes twinkled as he looked at Mr Doyle.

"My dear, Mr Bodie, I've never questioned your breeding. You have none." Mr Doyle was gallantly trying not to laugh right out.

"Har, har."

Mr Cowley coughed to interrupt. "Do you have appropriate apparel?"

Both men nodded.

"Will you be attending as well?" Mr Doyle asked of their boss.

"No. The Queen will not be in attendance. My time will be well spent on our project."

**Hainsworth Home**  
**Chelsea**

 

The carriage pulled up and stopped in front the stately home of Lord and Lady Hainsworth. Mr Bodie jumped out as soon as the cab door was opened. He dipped his head as he brushed off some imaginary dust from his black tail coat. He winked at the driver of his hansom, the adaptable Mr Murphy.

The plan was for Murphy to pick up Mr Doyle down the road, and exchange drivers. Mr Anson would drop Mr Doyle off, after which they would remain with the other drivers and listen for anything pertinent.

He waited outside with the arriving guests until Mr Doyle arrived. Mr Bodie sucked in his breath and released it slowly. Mr Doyle looked rather regal in his black tail coat, small white bow tie and black low-cut waistcoat with shawl lapels. Beneath lay a white, heavily starched shirt that spoke of excellent craftsmanship or an excellent body. Dressed the same as he, Mr Bodie was quite sure Mr Doyle was far more striking of the two.

Once Mr Doyle stood at his side, they followed the other invitees up the long sweep of stairs leading to a carved stone doorway. Music could be heard through the opening.

Mr Bodie gave the name David Bentley to be announced. Mr Doyle gave the name Mark Layton. They were ushered into a large well-lit reception room that opened to a vast ballroom with dark floors that glistened in contrast to the chandelier's cut of sparkling crystal. 

Their black silk hats, and black capes were checked with attendant on duty. Each man was handed a check stub and they placed their retrieval tickets into the inside pocket of their coats.

Everywhere he looked there was evidence of understated wealth — bouquets of fresh cut flowers in their painted bone china vases, paintings by famous artists in gaudy frames, trinkets from around the world adorning the shelves and walls.

The refreshment room was adjacent to the ballroom. Each of the many tables were filled with delights for the eyes and palate. Savoury soups, roast turkey with stuffing, roast pork with speciality potatoes, chicken fricassee served with rice, and calves liver and bacon. More than seven vegetable side dishes, fried and boiled potatoes, with an array of fresh breads and sweet cream butter. Citrus ice, jams, jellies and sweet pickles, fancy cake and preserved fruit had their own separate table. Mr Bodie looked forward to that most of all.

"There is bound to be a large collection of earls and dukes and I don not know what all, but I'm sure there will be ruffians pretending to be gentlemen," Mr Doyle said in a low voice as he brought up a glass of punch to his lips.

"Most of these people look quite stuffy," Mr Bodie remarked as he reach around Mr Doyle to grab another canapé from a refreshment table. 

As Paul and John Coogan were announced, Mr Bodie leaned in close to Mr Doyle. "Stuffy and pretentious as well."

All the men were in evening dress, though some finer than others. In the end, Mr Cowley had provided finery that had indeed surpassed his own. Mr Layton and Mr Bentley looked more than fine, so fine that they could truly be mistaken for landed gentry. The women in attendance were all in the latest creations of the season. The mothers had tight hold of their daughters, preparing to thrust them at the eligible men in the room 

The small orchestra warmed up, itself announcing that the first dance would begin. Lady Hainsworth's daughter would lead with the man was of highest rank. Tonight it was her father. The music started with a waltz and the father and daughter were the first on the floor. After the first circle around the ballroom other couples joined them on the floor. 

The unavoidable was upon them. Both slipped on their pale gloves to protect their dancing partners from sweaty fingers. Hers or his, Mr Bodie had never been quite sure.

The next dance was a quadrille. Mr Bodie shook his head imperceptibly, the usual problem with dancing a quadrille was that you were always losing your partner and catching her again from another gentleman. Round and round it went, taking hands with a number of ladies to whom one had not been introduced, and, in his case, didn't want an introduction whatsoever. He chuckled to himself; a number of these ladies would have refused any introduction with him if they had known his actual circumstances. Mr Bodie felt that he kept having to dance, for it would have been very rude to lurk on the margins staring at just one gentleman, and not the one he was here to watch.

All the mothers present seemed to sense their unattached status, and most kept pushing their daughters off on both of them for dances. Several dances later Mr Bodie made his escape and headed directly to the refreshment room.

"You'll burst your waistcoat buttons," Mr Doyle smirked taking up a glass of wine satisfied that he had escaped the female clutches as well.

Mr Bodie sniffed inelegantly. "I'm hardly in danger of that. I never took a bite at supper."

Mr Doyle snorted quite loudly. 

Mr Bodie picked up, then savagely stuffed the entirety of the biscuit into his mouth. Mr Doyle reached to stop him licking his fingers.

"Fine breeding? Remember not to lick your fingers." Mr Doyle reached around Mr Bodie to secure a napkin. He presented it to his cohort with dramatic flair.

Mr Bodie accepted it and dabbed at the corner of his mouth. He turned around and filled his plate seriously. Mr Doyle did the same and remained at his side.

"I believe that it is time for some wine." He had his eyes on Mr Coogan, the man of their attention as he turned away from his partner.

"I think the lady is making her interest known." Mr Doyle nudged his partner in the side with an elbow as his head indicated Lady Juliana. They had both danced with her earlier. "The Duke of Brendon is quite anxious to marry her to any gentleman."

Mr Bodie turned away from the dance floor as though discussing something behind Mr Doyle. "However gentlemanly I may comport myself, I will never make suitable husband material." He moved them in the direction of the libations table. "I'm sure after a full minute of suffering she will turn her attentions to you, if you are interested, of course."

Doyle remained still, seeming to give the question more thought than seem warranted. "My chances of making a good match were scuppered long ago." He turned his head and smiled at Mr Bodie. "Even my mother has ceased asking." He seemed quite proud of the fact. "And you? Were you paraded before all the eligible coming out females?" The smile was both baited and pained at the same time.

"All thoughts along those lines were dismissed when I was fourteen, for that was when they discerned my tastes were not conventional. Hence, why I will never make suitable husband material." Mr Bodie's tone didn't give much away.

Mr Doyle cocked his head to the side, eyes wide with honest inquiry, not judgement of any sort. "How unconventional?"

"The love that dare not speak its name."

Nothing changed about Mr Doyle's visage but his eyes widened slightly. His body remained still.

Mr Bodie did not want to create a scene, so quietly excused himself, and stepped out for air. That was quite the announcement and he was yet unsure of its reception. He might no longer have a partner on the morrow. But he was quite certain that Mr Doyle had been telling him something, maybe not as shocking as his pronouncement, but something lurked inside his story of scuppered chances. He found an unoccupied gazebo and sat alone. 

Even with swirling thoughts and whole life paths before him, he remained a man of duty. When two men furtively stepped into the closest gazebo to him and checked to make sure they were alone, Mr Bodie faded into the shadows and remained still.

One of the men started whispering, "How close are we to finishing this?" Even the whisper was all upper crust and Mr Bodie was sure that he would recognise it again.

"My man inside assures me that Her Royal on-the-way-out-the-door will yield when faced with the fall of London and eventually all of Britannia."

Mr Bodie was sure that the voice belonged to the elder Coogan. John Coogan.

"As the Queen remains uncertain, it is the time to strike, draw her opponents, our future supporters out into the open. Once confronted by the overwhelming number she will yield and that will be just the beginning." 

"A ship armed with weapons that will keep a city held captive. She will yield and the city will pay . . . and pay."

Mr Bodie scribbled it down word for word on the napkin that Mr Doyle had given him. If only he had seen whom Coogan had been talking with, if only he could signal Mr Doyle.

The two men finished smoking and slipped back inside. Mr Bodie knew he could rush back in and become suspect himself, but he did step closer to the door. He waited until Coogan was out of his view, then made his way in and around to the refreshment table before joining Mr Doyle.

Mr Bodie touched his arm. "Did you see who Coogan entered with recently?"

Both heads turned to seek their quarry out and found him surrounded by eligible girls and their mothers.

"No. He disappeared while, frankly, I was waiting for you."

"He was outside smoking, and talking in a whisper with another man of his plan. I wrote it down. We need to get it to Mr Cowley."

"Should we just leave?" Mr Doyle offered.

"No, that would just focus too much attention upon us. We leave when others do. You need to watch who he talks with so you may draw them," Mr Bodie directed.

"Human nature suggests that he will not speak with whom ever he had the assignation with again." Mr Doyle answered and shrugged. They walked back to the libation's table together. 

As soon as some guests made to depart early, Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle made their way to the door after collecting the hats and capes. Mr Bodie stopped to offer Lord Hainsworth a nod of thanks and good evening and felt the hair on his neck stand up. He turned as if he had been summoned to see if he could locate the source of his unease. Nothing at the moment stood out. The napkin of words was suddenly extremely important and he must ensure that it reached Mr Cowley.

He joined Mr Doyle at the door and offered to share his conveyance for all who could overhear.

"Mr Bentley, may I offer you a ride as I pass by your abode on the way."

"I gratefully accept, Mr Layton." Mr Doyle knew something was up by the use of the false names. 

They stepped out the doorway and walked sedately down the stairs. Voices of party-goers all around and none that seemed odd or out of place. Mr Bodie smiled. Mr Doyle smiled. They chatted about the stars and night air, all the while Mr Bodie was on high alert. Just before he stepped onto the driveway Mr Bodie hand signalled to Murphy, who had waited in sight all evening.

Mr Murphy brought the hansom over and stopped at the base of the stairs. He jumped down, bowed, and opened the carriage door. Inside, in the shadows, out of view sat Mr Anson.

Mr Bodie leaned in and passed him the napkin. "No matter what happens, it is imperative that Mr Cowley receive this. Imperative!"

Mr Anson nodded his head in understanding.

Then, when needed, a serendipitous moment arrived. The other carriages all pulled to a stop at the same time, surrounding Mr Bodie's. In short order, the immediate area was filled with very noisy patrons demanding immediate attention. It allowed for the easy escape of Mr Anson as he disappeared from the carriage and into the night.

Mr Murphy still held the carriage door open, and Mr Bodie indicated by hand that Mr Doyle should precede him. Mr Murphy made to close the door behind Mr Bodie.

Mr Bodie stopped him. "Keep a watch out. Something is out of order," Mr Bodie warned through the opening.

Mr Murphy nodded as he closed the door before he climbed up on top, and picked up the reins.

"What is happening?" Mr Doyle asked immediately after the door clicked shut.

"Nothing . . . yet. Just a feeling of unease."

When they were well out of view of the manor residence, Mr Bodie tried to relax, but it would not happen.

They both heard the faint pounding of hooves. Mr Murphy called out, "We are being pursued by carriage." He snapped the reins. "Hey, yup, hey, yup." The horses gait changed to a gallop. They heard the report of gunfire, but it went wide of the mark. It was hardly possible to hit such a fast-moving target.

"Riders on horseback as well!" Mr Murphy yelled as he armed himself, never slowing the horses. 

Mr Bodie had his laser pistol on hand as did Mr Doyle. They collected their goggles from under the seat and placed them on their faces. They steadied their arms in the openings, pointed their weapons out, and waited for the pursuers to draw close enough.

The special glass composition of the goggles aided in the night visuals. Mr Bodie pulled the trigger and struck down the first rider on horseback. Mr Doyle took aim and the second and third went down without firing a single shot in return. One rider jumped from his horse to land on the carriage and met with the knife in Mr Bodie's boot instead. Another rider jumped onto the roof of the cab, grabbed the door frame and swung himself inside. Mr Bodie, seated and prepared, moved his feet to his assailant's chest and pushed him hard back out through the opening. He saw him bounce once before the carriage was well past.

The horses were trained to run hard unguided which allowed Mr Murphy atop the carriage to keep his attention on the carriage still gaining on them. When the top of that carriage seemed to open, Mr Murphy pulled out his cylinder and readied the lid.

"CLOSE YOUR EYES!" Murphy yelled out to his companions. "One, two, three." He aimed, closed his own eyes, and pulled back the lid. A lightning bolt cracked as it shot out and hit the carriage behind them. Suddenly the carriage behind them was no more; it disintegrated into a ball of fire. The air fizzled around them and cracked again on its own.

Mr Murphy turned his attention back to the horses that had never missed a hoof beat.

Inside their carriage, Mr Doyle opened his eyes and asked, "What was that? I could hear what sounded like lightning and then felt heat."

"Oh, that is Marty's contribution to the cause." Mr Bodie grinned wide, as he rubbed the hair on his arms.

"But what was that?"

"Trapped lightning. Marty Martell is a lightning thief."

"Glad he's on our side," Mr Doyle commented.

"Oh, Marty's on his own side, but we are mates." Mr Bodie shrugged with his hands held wide.

The rest of the ride back to the docks was quite uneventful.

**Morris Antiquities**  
**Well after midnight**

 

Mr Cowley was not alone. Not only did Mr Anson make it back unharmed, but now a lady was sitting behind Cowley's desk, in his chair. Mr Macklin was also on hand, standing to her right. Major Howard, whom they recognised, was standing in the far corner.

Mr Bodie, Mr Doyle, Mr Murphy, and Mr Jax, who had been on watch outside the antiquities warehouse since Lady Walsh had arrived, all joined Mr Cowley in his office. He closed the door behind them, and locked it.

"No sound can escape from here as long as the door remains closed," Mr Macklin explained.

Mr Bodie leaned back against the wall in another corner facing the group, and the wall of drawings. Mr Doyle leaned against a blank portion of the same wall. Mr Jax stayed near Lady Walsh, while Mr Macklin stood next to Mr Cowley. Mr Murphy and Mr Anson sat on the floor out of the way.

"Gentlemen, for those who have not yet met, this is Lady Walsh, a fellow mentah, and friend." Mr Cowley introduced all in the room whom the lady had yet to meet. The warmest smile any had yet to see was bestowed on the good lady. "This is Major Howard, our fellow mentah." The Major bobbed his head slowly to the room.

"Bodie, would you care to explain this?" Mr Cowley turned to face him as he held out the scribbled-upon dinner napkin.

Mr Bodie stepped away from the wall and stood straight but relaxed with a slow breath. He retold his story. "I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. I heard two men speaking in low whispers, so I listened in. I recognised Coogan's voice immediately from when he was introduced at his arrival earlier. The other voice I did not know. It wasn't familiar at all."

Mr Bodie took the napkin from Mr Cowley's hand, turned it in the proper direction, and read it aloud. "How close are we to finishing this? My man inside assures me that Her Royal on-the-way-out-the-door will yield when faced with the fall of London and eventually all of Britannia. As the Queen remains uncertain, it is the time to strike, draw her opponents, our future supporters out into the open. Once confronted by the overwhelming number she will yield and that will be just the beginning. A ship armed with weapons that will keep a city held captive. She will yield and the city will pay . . . and pay." 

Mr Bodie handed the napkin back to Mr Cowley. "I handed the missive off to Anson undetected. He was able to get away unnoticed, but we were ambushed on the way here. None of the attackers survived to follow or carry back tales."

"What alerted them?" Mr Cowley asked.

"I do not know." Mr Bodie slightly shrugged his shoulders.

"Someone unknown must have seen Mr Bodie return from outside at the same time as Coogan." Mr Doyle's face displayed the trying-to-remember-something expression.

"What does this all mean?" Mr Jax asked quietly.

"It is the verification of the threat against our Queen. Up until this point we were working off rumour alone." Mr Cowley's voice held triumph as he studied the wall. 

"George's puzzle board shows a strong opposition. They seem quite confident of their strength." Lady Walsh contributed for the first time. "They believe that she, Her Magesty, is on her way out, I can not help but wonder who they plan to replace her with? The elder prince? Coogan, himself?"

"Britannia still loves their Queen, she will rise against them." Mr Macklin was quick to point out.

"Her deadliest enemies lie closest to her. Her real danger is there," Major Howard said in a low but emphatic voice.

"Their weapon must be something of which we have not yet seen any inkling." Mr Doyle stared at the puzzle board.

"It is imperative that we identify the weapon and its location." Mr Cowley looked to the four men who could scour the streets: Messrs Bodie, Doyle, Jax, and Anson.

Lady Walsh was again at the puzzle board, attaching string from Coogan to a member of the Queen's Court, Nigel Dawson.

"Why him? What tells you that?" Mr Cowley asked. Though not with surprise, his tone was of the curious kind.

Every one in the room refocused their eyes on the wall of drawings and string. All could see that the visage of everyone in this room was connected to Mr Cowley's drawing. Lady Walsh stood and all turned toward her.

"His current power alignments, his family history has always sided against the monarchy, their imagined slights by Her Majesty. The most concrete proof would be the drawings that Mr Doyle brought back." She shuffled through the pile, selected one, and pulled it out. "This man is Dawson's lackey, and his nephew." She held up the drawing for all to see.

"So we now know one of the conspirators within the Court."

"Are you sure there are more?" Mr Murphy asked as he could see the same question on many faces.

"Yes! No plan, call it a conspiracy, if you will, but nothing of this magnitude could be accomplished inside the Court unless there were others." Mr Cowley's tone left no room for doubt. "Mr Anson, amid all this, please be sure that the fate of your sister is not forgotten."

The single nod of his head said more than any verbal response.

"We are close, and others know it. Not all will find it safe to travel. This place seems to be yet unknown and is large enough for you to stretch out and get rest here. We will reassemble at seven o'clock in the morning." Mr Cowley unlocked the door. He exited to find Mr Crane and make arrangements.

Mr Bodie made to follow Messrs Doyle and Murphy back to the laboratory, but paused as he saw Mr Anson looking awkward. "Looks like you have been drafted into our merry group."

"Ja, if it will find my sister." Mr Anson looked Mr Bodie directly in the eye. "Mr Cowley seems to want the right thing, do the right thing. It is good to be part of that."

"You will do. Come on, we have some entertaining weapons for you." Mr Bodie pushed Mr Anson ahead of him.

**Morris Antiquities**  
**Early morn**

 

Lady Walsh was already sitting behind Mr Cowley's desk looking refreshed when Mr Bodie followed Mr Doyle into the mentah's office. They had finished outfitting the Prussian by four a.m. and now a mere three hours later they were reassembling. He nodded his greeting to the lady before standing with his back to the wall opposite the puzzle board.

He studied the drawings, most provided by Mr Doyle, and mentally traced stringed pictures to their counterparts. He, Doyle, Murphy, Jax and Anson all traced back to Cowley. Martin had his string to Cowley, but one went to Culbertson, as well.

The Culbertson drawing traced to a paper with just the single name of Coogan written on it. No one as yet had provided a clear picture of the man. All the Queen's Court had string dangling from their likeness, but only two, besides the Queen herself ran to Cowley. The one drawing off to the side was Doctor Katherine Ross, one of the few lady doctors of her time. It was encircled by the string, but led nowhere, no allegiance promised to anyone save the Queen herself. The others were still questionable and most likely held the traitor or traitors to Her Majesty.

The other members of this inscrutable group meandered in at a steady pace holding tea-cups or munching on bread. The last to enter was Mr Cowley, he locked the door, and the conclave was fully assembled. The meeting began with Lady Walsh. 

"Good morning. Sources loyal to the Major and me came calling in the wee hours, and we have confirmed without a doubt that Coogan's co-conspirator is Lord Dawson." 

Mr Macklin connected a string from the Coogan name to the drawing of Lord Dawson.

Lady Walsh continued, "The connection comes by the way of a barrister. An interesting point of information comes from my school days. Geraldine Mather, barrister currently but back then she was courted by David Merlin. They have remained friends, if not more, since." The mystified looks on most faces had her connect the lines herself. "David Merlin is the barrister who connects Coogan, Dawson, and Mather. Those are the Court members who will move against the Queen."

"Do we have enough to present it to the Queen?" Mr Doyle asked. The ways of the Metropolitan Police were still deeply ingrained.

"No proof on paper," Mr Cowley explained. "But enough for us to act on. We know it is true, and that is enough for our supporters at Court." Mr Cowley moved to the napkin tacked on the wall. "Bodie, Doyle, you will search for the ship. Take Murphy and his submersible. Mr Anson, if you would please resume your hunt on the docks. They think you are a known quantity, let us keep it that way, if you please." Mr Cowley turned to look at Lady Walsh. She dipped her head almost imperceptibly. "Mr Jax, Lady Walsh is to remain here. Mr Macklin will see to her safety. I need you to collect from her home what she deems necessary. I fear an attempt would be made on her life, and I need you to take the greatest of care."

Choruses of, yes, or, of course, rang out from the men seconded for the jobs.

"Bodie, Doyle, please wait." Mr Cowley requested.

Mr Murphy hung back until Mr Bodie waved him on. "Get your sub ready. We'll be along as quickly as time permits."

"Lads, this is not just a conspiracy, this is an actual plot to overthrow the Queen. However ludicrous the concept, her life is in very real danger. You must stop it before it can happen. Find this ship. If you find evidence of Anson's sister that's all to the good, but the priority is locating this ship."

"Yes, sir," Mr Bodie answered.

Both men headed to the laboratory. Mr Murphy had waited just outside and jockeyed to lead as they entered the inventor's playhouse. 

"How do we get this into the water without attracting attention?" Mr Doyle's mystified look encompassed more than their exit.

"From here, of course." Mr Murphy grinned as he pointed to the far side of the building.

"Murph is correct. We have an access to the Thames from in here through a launch tube I built." Mr Macklin seemed to appear from nowhere.

Mr Bodie looked backed just as the three of them stepped onto the moving walkway. Mr Macklin had already disappeared from view. The moving walkway transported them to the far side of the building post-haste. Once they stepped off Mr Murphy set off in a new direction. They passed vats of a bubbling illuminated substance. They passed gears modelled into rotating hooks and shifting shelves that Mr Bodie wished that he could have time to investigate further. They wove between platforms of metal oddities that moved, and spouted steam at regular intervals. They finally reached the furthest corner from the entrance, and there, in the floor hidden from all view, lay a heavy-duty hatch.

Mr Murphy opened it inward, and they climbed down to be met by Mr Macklin, again. He closed the upper hatch before he opened the hatch on the floor. For this one, Mr Macklin lifted levers and pushed buttons. Hinges creaked as the glass cover retreated back on itself. In its wake it left a gaping hole that rested inches above the surface of the Thames. Sounds of running water were loud and discernible, the odour distinct.

Mr Bodie looked about and decided that they were in an underground facility less than half the size of the laboratory above. At the top of the wall behind them he saw what was likely to be the watercraft. They didn't have enough man power to get it down or push it outside of the water.

"How are we to get that down here?" Mr Doyle was as mystified as Mr Bodie on the topic.

"Remarkably easy." Mr Macklin opened a door that had been invisible to the eye until he had pulled a ring that had been equally hard to discern. When opened it revealed a panel of levers. Mr Macklin pulled two down at the same time and a release of steam exhaling was followed by the groan of moving metal.

Before their eyes was a steam-run mechanism that comprised four pulleys on which a loop of material rotated back to where it started. The anbaric powered submersible was set on this conveyer by a steam-driven robotic arm. Mr Macklin moved another set of levers and reversed the direction of the conveyance. The underwater ship stopped and hovered just about the gaping hole leading to the Thames.

Mr Macklin pushed the solitary button that sat next to this set of levers and two spider-like hands emerged from below and held the ship in place.

"We have not had the time to test run this final model, so Murph should go along. Doyle, you are lean enough to be wedged in between the steering systems."

Mr Doyle nodded, though he looked far from happy about it.

The inventors opened the ship's hatch between them, pulled the door open, and fastened it not to close on them. The body shape looked similar to a dolphin body with duck feet below it. The front section was completely a transparent material. It did not feel or sound like glass. The dials, levers, and buttons sunk into the console all glowed with different colour illuminents. 

Mr Macklin instructed them on the pilot controls and what manoeuvrability this ship had. He showed both men what the second pilot would have available.

"The duck feet are not for speed alone. They have the capability of reaching out and retrieving objects. They have a substantially powered ammunition that can be fired accurately from a moderate range." 

"Substantially more than the average bullet, I take it?" Mr Bodie asked what he already guessed.

"Yes, much more similar to cricket ball-sized iron spheres packed with Greek fire. It is certain to be memorable." Mr Macklin smiled for the first since Mr Bodie had been introduced.

Mr Doyle climbed into the ship first and positioned himself. Mr Bodie climbed in next, followed by Mr Murphy, who sat in the pilot's spot. Mr Macklin closed and locked the hatch. He released the spider hands and the submersible plunged into the Thames.

First thing Mr Murphy did after advancing the craft forward was to trade seats with Mr Bodie. "You need to operate it to remember what the levers are for."

Mr Bodie adapted readily. He knew that Mr Doyle would as well.

Travelling through the silent world of halcyon water was alluring. The symmetry of the cascading fluid parting as the submersible's beak-like bow cut a path through the river was deceptively elegant. The only sound that intruded was the hum of the spinning gears of the anbaric power. 

Visibility on the other hand was quite murky. The long-term contamination of the river from sewage and pollutants had taken its toll and made the clarity of the water impenetrable to their eyes. Fortuitously for them, the submersible was equipped with glass, and light that seem to cut through the ink.

Based on the map Mr Doyle had drawn, and the specific anchor moorings, they knew they were close to Culbertson's area. Mr Bodie figured it was time to reduce speed. Mr Doyle sat pressed between both consoles. The ship wasn't designed for three, but as this was just an exploratory run, and the best chance to learn first-hand how to pilot the vessel was to squeeze into the limited space. He had the folded map resting on his knees.

"Everything from this point is a potential docking area for his ship. We don't know exactly what we're looking for so move us along slowly." Mr Doyle twisted around as much as he could so he could see what was ahead of them. Mr Doyle knew that they were past the Isle of Dogs, but no where near Prisoner's Gate.

The water was still murky enough to make them doubt their eyes. Before them there was no ship of any size. There was, however, a floating house in its entirety, completely below the surface. It had an enclosed tunnel that connected it to the riverbank. 

Mr Bodie moved the submersible closer to the house, staying out of the line of sight of the house windows. They couldn't fit under the house but neither was it resting on the bottom. Mr Doyle manoeuvred the movable spyglass so that they could peek into the house.

There were many girls on the inside. None moving about freely, none appeared cheerful. Mr Bodie pulled the submersible away and they watched from a distance. They could see that the tunnel moved as it was walked through.

"Coogan is holding the girls there." Mr Doyle quickly put the pieces together. "Bastard."

"Anson's sister is probably still alive." Mr Bodie was relieved to jump to that conclusion. "Well, we found something, just not what Mr Cowley was looking for. We still have no idea about this ship of his."

"Let us head back with this information. I need to contact Benny." Mr Doyle squeezed himself back into the tight space.

**Docks and Building Seventeen**

It was late enough in the afternoon that Mr Doyle knew that he had missed talking with Benny at the park. He knew he had to wait until the sweep conclave later in the evening. Mr Bodie had sent a message to Marty as well.

"A meal would not be a bad idea," Mr Bodie suggested.

"I could eat," Mr Doyle agreed.

They walked to McMann Public House from the antiquities warehouse. The pub had reopened and was early yet so it wasn't very crowded. The publican nodded to them as they entered. He drew two pints and had them waiting as Mr Bodie approached the counter. He tossed out the coins and ordered two dinner plates. The food arrived and they dug in; both men were hungry. Chewing required energy and they used what they had to eat.

While he ate his meat pie, Mr Bodie remembered the conversation he had engaged in with Mr Doyle while at the ball. Was it just last evening? Good Lord. Mr Doyle had said his chances were scuppered. That could mean so many varied things, possibilities were countless. It was only wishful dreaming on his part to believe that it meant the same as what he declared. Hellfire! He had said it out loud, quite blunt, in fact. The love that dare not speak its name. What was he thinking?

Mr Doyle had been surprised, he remembered that clearly. It was a wonder that Mr Doyle hadn't thrashed him. Gentlemen just didn't speak of such oddities aloud. Even though he was loath to be called a gentleman, he knew that both he and Mr Doyle were of that ilk. They were not crass enough, even at their worst, to be anything less. 

Mr Bodie figured that his only true hope was that Mr Doyle's indiscretions were such that he would not repeat that conversation for his own sake. He turned his attention back to the living embodiment of his thoughts.

Mr Doyle pushed his plate away, crumpled his napkin on top. He tipped back his head to finish his pint. He placed his glass down and looked at Mr Bodie.

Mr Bodie anticipated his partner's train of thought just by the look on his face. "It's a distinct possibility that the office that is not an office could yield needed information."

"We know the schedule. They don't know we know of that place, nor the underwater house. We just need a ship location." The reinvigorated Mr Doyle leaned forward.

"Okay, we need all our supplies, weapons, tools, and food, this time. And as much as it pains me, we should plan for another long vigil." Mr Bodie dropped his head and sighed.

Mr Bodie collected the hansom and pointed toward Building Seventeen. They would only be home long enough to collect all they would need for protection, combat, and a possible long vigil. He smiled ruefully to himself, this home of less than a fortnight hadn't been used much since the move, and yet felt very much his. 

He changed into all black clothing, including his coat. He tucked all his weapons into the hidden pockets within his clothes. He carried his chestplate and goggles, along with his carryall for the extra accoutrements. As he joined Mr Doyle downstairs, he couldn't help but wonder if Ray Doyle wasn't a big part of why this felt like home. 

Mr Doyle carried his own carryall, which he placed next to Mr Bodie's inside the cab, then chose to ride on top alongside Mr Bodie. 

Mr Bodie could hardly contain his smile as he headed for Whitechapel and High.

**Whitechapel and High**

 

They were trying to make the docks before the shift change, so Mr Bodie decided to drive the carriage straight into the heart of the confluence.

Mr Doyle spotted Benny easily and was readying himself to jump down when Benny approached.

The sweep whistled under his breath. "Bloody hell, you got your own Sherbet Dab. Nice. Them prads are a couple of beauties." Benny raised his voice to be easily heard. "What can I do you for, sir?"

"I am in need of some work," Mr Doyle said before he jumped down. 

Mr Bodie followed suit, landed on the ground, and stood next to the horses.

Benny, with a slight movement of his hand and head tilt, moved them away from the possibility of multiple ears.

"Benny, there are terrible events occurring. All trace back to Coogan. We need whatever you can get on John Coogan."

"By all accounts he's a real Hampton Wick. You Street Knights watch yourself. I'll do what I can." Benny nodded his intent and headed back into the middle of the sweeps.

Said Street Knights headed back to the hansom, and the Coogan dock vigil.

**Limehouse Dock Area**  
**River Thames**

 

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle set themselves up as they had before, among the crates and containers. High enough to view the coming and goings, and shaded enough to be out of view of all others.

Mr Bodie found it a relief that the same men were coming and going as last time. It felt like weeks ago even though it was just days. The men moved about as if they had nothing to be concerned about whatsoever.

Mr Doyle watched through the spyglass and created new drawings of those they had deemed important. No specific reasoning, just a feeling they both had after hours of watching.

They had decided that shift change was the best time for entry. There was at least thirty minutes of safe time when the container had no visitors.

 

They stepped across wooden planks that bridged the gap between the pullaway stair and the container box. Mr Doyle knelt down to the door-locking mechanism and inspected it closely.

Mr Bodie checked the area and saw three regulars who were getting off much later than usual. "I rather fear we have attracted unwanted attention." Mr Bodie tapped Mr Doyle on the shoulder and pointed.

"You will have to hold them off. I just require another thirty seconds." Mr Doyle's focus never wavered from his task.

"Not a second more." Mr Bodie pulled out Mr Murphy's latest trial contraption and shot the spray gun at the approaching miscreants. The fast acting sleeping gas worked better than Mr Murphy claimed and the three men in mid-stride fell to the ground with a thud but issued no cries of warning. Thus Mr Bodie, with Mr Murphy's help, provided Mr Doyle with considerably more than thirty seconds.

But Mr Doyle didn't need it. At twenty-nine seconds the tumbler clicked and the locked door opened.

Mr Bodie rolled the sleeping miscreants out of sight, and returned to Mr Doyle's side.

Both men stepped in quickly and silently and locked the door behind them.

Mr Bodie started his search with the drawers and loose papers that were spread all over the desk and floor. He made sure he was careful enough that it wouldn't be obvious the place had been searched. It would look more in line as if the air blew papers around when the door was opened quickly.

Mr Bodie found a map and schedules that were not posted on the walls. The largest map appeared at first glance to be similar to the docks, but with a closer look, it was of an underwater warehouse. Since he had found it between almanacs he stuffed it into his pocket lining. He searched for the map of the tunnel and house they had seen, which he found between the next two consecutive almanacs.

The schedules were of the construction timetables for two separate facilities. He pocketed those as well.

Mr Doyle searched for a safe and found it hidden in the floor.

Mr Doyle found plans that he'd never seen the likes of before, but he was sure Macklin and Murphy would know what to make of them. He searched the rubbish and removed a large piece of parchment paper and copied the plans exactly. Mr Doyle sat at the desk as he worked. Mr Bodie finished his search, and looked over at Mr Doyle studiously working bent over the desk as close to light as he could. He moved over to stand behind him, watched as Mr Doyle painstakingly copied what was there, and tried to figure out what it was. When the drawing was complete Mr Doyle folded it up and tucked it inside his shirt, the original was placed back into the rubbish.

"Do you know what we are looking at?"

"A reason we are not seeing as much foot traffic as we should be."

Mr Bodie pulled out his timekeeper and glanced down at it. "We have four minutes before the workmen reappear."

"We need to show this to Cowley."

They left silently the way they came with thirty seconds to spare. Mr Bodie put his timekeeper away as they faded back into the night.

They collected their vigil supplies and headed to Mr Cowley's on foot.

**Morris Antiquities**

Mr Cowley looked as fresh as he did each morning. Mr Bodie was not surprised. Last week he might have been, but Mr Cowley was always impeccably dressed. 

He heard Mr Macklin talking with Murphy and was about to signal him, but Mr Doyle was already taking care of that. Mr Bodie knocked on Mr Cowley's door as a courtesy. He knew the man was aware of his presence.

"You need to see this. Macklin and Murphy as well." Mr Bodie remained standing.

Mr Cowley waved him to a seat. 

Mr Bodie placed the papers they had collected onto the desk before he sat in one of the available chairs. His partner and the inventors joined them.

"This is sure to be part of the underwater tunnel." Mr Doyle pointed to the largest map of an area that was recognisable to three of them. "We covered a lot of that area in the submersible."

"Doyle, is this correct?" Mr Macklin pointed to the parchment drawing that Mr Doyle had copied.

"Yes, it is," Mr Bodie answered. "We have never seen the likes of this object before." He pointed to the other drawing.

"Looks like a colossal bird." Mr Murphy flipped the drawing around and they all could make out the likeness.

"These are schedules of the construction timetables for two separate facilities." Mr Bodie addressed the other document. "This is not the area that we have been observing."

Mr Cowley rubbed his brow as he nodded his head. "Let our innovative thinkers here," pointing to Macklin and Murphy, who were mesmerised by the parchment's machine, "work on the true extent of this machine." He pointed to Messrs Bodie and Doyle. "You lads, go on home for a rest. "

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle nodded their heads and vacated as quickly as they could lest Mr Cowley thought up more for them to pursue.

**Spring Gardens**  
**Building Seventeen**

 

Mr Bodie pulled on the reins and stopped the carriage in front of the Mews stables. He let the reins fall from his hands, and sat there unmoving. He was weary. Every muscle felt overused. The upcoming night could not be long enough. He stirred himself as he saw out of the corner of his eye Mrs Jax approaching with her son, Arthur, by her side.

Mr Doyle emerged slowly from the cab and stopped at Mr Bodie's side as young Arthur ran up and stopped in front of Mr Bodie. "I have a missive, sir." 

"Just Bodie is fine, lad." He reached for the folded paper. "Who gave you this?"

"The man with his house on the water. He said to give it to you, no one but you." The young lad let out a huge sigh as he had remembered everything he was supposed to do.

"Thank you, Arthur." He flipped the lad several coins. 

The lad caught them and ran back to his mother, huge smile on his face.

Mr Bodie unfolded the note at once. He read. 'Weapon trading high among the remaining Turkel crowd. Culbertson group tooling up as well. Tonight's the night at Millwall.'

Mr Bodie sighed, his shoulders slumped lower for just a second before he took a deep breath and stood tall. He looked at his partner, and handed the missive to him. "We need to tool up ourselves." 

The necessity to be back on the road immediately had them moving quickly and they decided to travel light. They loaded just a small arsenal of ray guns, hand guns, throwing knives, sticks of dynamite, and a small cannon that could be carried or strapped to the thigh. Enough to get by.

Mr Bodie looked at Mr Doyle. "Ready to slay some more dragons?" He climbed to the top of the cab.

"Lead on, Lancelot." Mr Doyle climbed up top to sit beside his partner.

Mrs Jax reappeared with a food box. "Repast whilst on the move."

Mr Doyle smiled his thanks while Mr Bodie gave his head a nod and tip of his hat.

Mr Bodie picked up the reins, and pointed the horses to the Culbertson docks.

**Docks at Millwall**

 

Mr Bodie crept up the rocky bank close to the pier. He tread carefully over the leaves and sticks. He pulled himself up and peaked over the edge. It was just as Marty had surmised. Turkel's men seemed to be vying for control and planned to use Culbertson's docks as their war ground. The Turkel men converged on the Culbertson group by creeping up slowly and taking cover behind the very packing crates they had used themselves. 

Mr Bodie hand signalled to Mr Doyle to circle back and up around the men that were completely failing at being quiet and stealthy. They wanted to immobilise the outer group of men first and silently. The Bushido staffs with the instant sleeping draught seemed the most effective way to achieve it.

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle had donned their automaton-stylised gas masks. The innovative Mr Murphy had made sure the eye sections of the mask allowed for more than adequate peripheral vision and had the at night viewing enhancements. Both had elected to wear their chestplates and they strapped the mini-canons to their thighs.

Mr Bodie dropped down silently onto his toes and struck the man between the shoulder blades. The man fell to his knees and was surrounded by the gas. He quickly fell the rest of the way to the ground, asleep. No sound escaped to alert the other men. Mr Doyle and Mr Bodie took out the entire outer circle of Turkel men in that manner. Mr Doyle threw three luminiferous aether tubes out into the exposed area and the startled men reacted badly.

Turkel's men ran from the cover that they'd been hiding behind, shooting anything and everything they could. They took no real aim, just kept firing their weapons as fast as they could. 

Culbertson's men came out of hiding. And the real fighting began. Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle waited until they were sure that all the men were in the fray. Mr Doyle pulled out what looked like a seed-disperser, pointed it into the middle of the fray, and fingered the switch. The steam-run gears spun and the sleeping draught was flung wide into the group of men fighting. Soon man after man swayed on his feet and fell to the ground asleep.

A growl of frustrated anger sounded in the night above them almost at the same time a large object was hurled against Mr Bodie. He was forced face down on the ground, the wind knocked clean out of him.

His hot cheek was pressed against the wet ground by the foot on his back, and in that moment, Mr Bodie knew with absolute clarity that he wanted to live, more than anytime in his life to date. The reason stood there like the proverbial mad scientist, a metallic head, owl eyes goggles, pistols in both hands, and luminous light rising from his back. He looked resplendent, he looked demented, and he was the most brilliant sight Mr Bodie had ever seen.

The man who stood above him was obviously startled by the sudden appearance of another, and Mr Bodie used the distraction to roll over and take the man's feet out from under him. Splayed out wide, he was immediately stepped on by Mr Doyle's foot, and a pistol was shoved into his face.

"Touching my partner in such a manner was reprehensible." Mr Doyle watched Mr Bodie stand and brush himself off. "I think Mr Cowley would like to talk to this one." Mr Doyle pointed down to Paul Culbertson himself.

"I think you are on to something." Mr Bodie helped his partner restrain the man's hands behind his back, then they lifted him up between them. "You realise that this is another coat that has been damaged."

"You must consider asking Mr Cowley for a haberdashery budget." Mr Doyle grinned at Mr Bodie through the mask.

Mr Bodie just rolled his eyes, content to his marrow.

**Morris Antiquities,**  
**Spring Gardens -Building Seventeen**

 

The Street Knights returned to Mr Cowley's stronghold and found it oddly quiet. All Mr Macklin had said was that Mr Cowley was out. He took custody of Paul Culbertson and secured him until a time that Mr Cowley returned.

Each man gave a nod of thanks and returned to the carriage. The weary Mr Bodie headed home at last.

They finally returned to Building Seventeen. The eldest Jax lad, Steven, ran to the horses straight away and relieved Mr Bodie of the burden of caring for the beasts. Mr Bodie nodded his thanks; that was all he had energy for at the moment. He turned and walked as if he carried lead in his boots. Mr Doyle moved no faster as he followed all the way to Mr Bodie's room.

Inside his room Mr Bodie found a hot kettle of water, and a teapot with a snug cosy left by the considerate Mrs Jax. The scent alone made him remember that he was human. He fixed his cup, fixed Mr Doyle's, then poured the hot water into each. He handed Mr Doyle's off to him, then he drank deeply, and he drank it all; a restorative tea at the very least. He felt better as it trickled down his throat. He felt the warmth all the way to his belly. 

Mr Doyle finished his cup and placed it on the table. He moved to take his leave, but paused his step. His defences down, he felt the compulsion to speak. "Bodie."

"More tea?" Mr Bodie placed his own empty cup down.

Mr Doyle shook his head. "Bodie, there was a moment when I feared. . ." Mr Doyle caught his partner's eyes as his voice cracked.

Mr Bodie was certain that he saw something behind the fear, a hunger, perhaps. Newly found energy flowed from reserves rarely tapped and pulsed through his being. He gripped Ray by the arms and pulled their lips together. The hard wall behind was unyielding and exactly what he desired. He pushed Ray back gently with each exhale. He wove his fingers tightly into the sienna curls.

"Mr Doyle, if I am mistaken in what has not yet been said, you have my leave to manhandle me in whatever manner you wish."

"Oh. Shut up."

Bodie pressed his body right up against Doyle's body. He discovered their desires were well matched. Doyle's turgid manhood, leaking with excitement aligned with his own hardness as if by practice. Lips started shy in introduction and graduated to asking no leave to investigate all there was to know.

It was as if his loins were on fire. Never had he experienced such intense sensations. The wall was rough against his back but he welcomed the distraction or he would be lost in the sensations too quickly. 

Bodie could not recall the time he'd last felt such emotion as this. He reached fulfilment well before he would ever want. Doyle's front was suddenly as damp as his own, and if his smile was of the same intensity, then they were well matched in enjoyment.

"This still won't excuse your rush into danger," Mr Doyle reminded him as they continued to touch.

"I'd be tempted if this was the result." Mr Bodie smiled lazily, fingers still wrapped in the curls.

"This could be repeated in times of calm. No danger needed."

Mr Bodie sat up, expression still and quite serious. "You mean that?"

Mr Doyle's visage softened considerably. "Yes, I do." 

Mr Bodie nodded and sat back looking quite content.

"I think you can dispense with calling me Mr Doyle. Just Doyle, or even Ray, will suit." 

"Ray will suit just splendidly." A smile spread across his face before he leaned down into a kiss.

The sun cast a yellowish tint to the curtains; Mr Bodie knew it was well into the morning. He stretched his toes out. It was quite pleasant not to care what o'clock it was. His entire body felt pleasant. Ray had stayed until quite late.

Then the mental lethargy lifted and he remembered that he did need to get up. He looked at his timekeeper and realised that Mr Cowley expected them in thirty minutes. 

He splashed his face, straightened his hair, and donned fresh clothes. He raced down the stairs to see Ray in the same state of lateness. Mr Bodie stopped abruptly as he saw that carriage out, horses hitched and ready to go.

Mr Bodie tipped his cap to the lad. "Thanks, Steven." He climbed on top as Mr Doyle entered the cab. He probably hoped to catch more sleep. "Sod," Mr Bodie muttered enviously.

Mr Bodie pushed the horses faster than usual for the morning ride. They arrived not a full minute late. The smile that Mr Doyle gave as he opened the door was worth the hurried journey.

Before they could open the door, Mr Cowley was already on his way out. "I need you to drive to Trafalgar Square and be on the lookout as I talk with an ally." It was spoken like an order and they complied instantly in response to the command tone.

**Trafalgar Square**

 

Once they arrived at Trafalgar Square, Mr Bodie jumped down and opened the carriage door with a flourish. Mr Cowley waved him off with the barest hint of a smile.

Mr Cowley had the fawn collar turned up on his Chesterfield overcoat and a matching scarf pulled tightly around his neck as he stepped into the throng of people and disappeared. 

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle raced for the high ground instead of chasing after the man. They flipped their goggles down. Each man concentrated on adjusting the spyglass option as they scanned the crowd.

"Got him," Mr Doyle cried as he pointed to Nelson's bronzed column and Mr Cowley standing beside it. The distinguished gentleman he was talking held himself the same as members of Court or equal to it. The exchange was quick and did little to draw anyone's attention. The distinguished gentleman walked away opposite Mr Cowley.

Mr Cowley's protectors matched every step and awaited him at the mouth of Charing Cross, carriage at the ready. Mr Bodie opened the door with pomp and circumstance.

Mr Cowley waved it away. "Back to the shop." Mr Cowley stepped in and closed the door himself. "Take a furtive route."

Mr Bodie climbed back up with a hint of a smile, and sat next to Mr Doyle. They headed back the way they came with a trip to the opposite side of the city first. When Mr Bodie was confident that they were not shadowed, he headed for the shop.

**Morris Antiquities**

 

The cab stopped and Mr Cowley exited before Mr Bodie even had a chance to jump down. Both of Cowley's men followed him into the building. They headed straight to Mr Cowley's office. He was already seated behind his desk. Lady Walsh and Major Howard were present and seated. Mr Macklin was already there as well. He appeared to be standing guard behind Mr Cowley. 

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle stood against the wall and were joined by Messrs Anson, Jax, and Murphy as if they had been silently called into the office. Mr Murphy closed the door behind him. 

Mr Cowley looked down to the notes that had been handed to him by Lady Walsh and Major Howard. He took but a moment to absorb it all. 

"We know that Coogan is conspiring with Lord Dawson. We have visual proof of an underwater dwelling, housing kidnapped women, and an underwater tunnel to who knows where. We have obtained a copy of plans describing a monster ship. We have a foiled coup perpetrated by Turkel's men. We have captured Paul Culbertson, himself, and now I have been informed by the Prime Minister that Her Majesty is calling a meeting of her ministers and advisors in the Palace for the day following tomorrow." Mr Cowley paused as he looked to each person in the room. "We have but a small window of opportunity in which we can act upon our clandestine procured knowledge."

Mr Cowley held up his hand to forestall any questions. He looked to Lady Walsh, then to Major Howard. "As long as my fellow mentahs are alive and able to speak, I am free from attack. It is imperative that they remain here and safe from harm. I alone will attend the Queen. So, men, it is completely in your hands to find the monster ship, deny Coogan any chance to harm Her Majesty, and by extension, all of Londinium. Mr Macklin, I trust you to keep the mentahs safe."

"Yes, sir." Mr Macklin snapped the heels of his boots together.

"Yes, sir," rang out from the five men that he had entrusted to carry out his orders without fail.

**Morris Antiquities**  
**Mr Macklin's laboratory**

 

"Murphy, we have depleted our supplies, and I really wish to speak with you about the chestplate. It is indeed lifesaving, but it needs to hang lower in the back. To cover the soft part of the back above the hips." He pointed to the area on his person. 

Mr Murphy approached his mate in a hurry. He wanted to take measurement so he could create the needed piece quickly. He was quite aware that they all had little time.

Mr Bodie flinched as the inventor pressed his measurement tape against him. Mr Doyle, who was watching Mr Bodie intently, moved to his side to investigate what caused the pain he witnessed.

Mr Bodie tried to brush his hand away but Mr Doyle would have none of it. He pulled out the shirt from his britches and touched the bruised skin gently. His eyes connected with his partner's, but the quick shake told him it was not caused by their interlude.

Mr Doyle looked back down at the tender skin and remembered the passion of the night. His manhood swelled and he crouched down to hide it as he willed it away. The low position left him in no doubt that his interlude partner was in much the same fix. Alas they had no place to alleviate their burdens.

Mr Murphy, unaware of the charged currents about him, rushed away. "I will have this altered in no time. Then we can replenish your supplies."

Mr Doyle stood, material pressed snug against his manhood, with a smile far too wicked to speak of the mundane, one more likely to promise a wild ride.

Mr Bodie didn't need more of an invitation to pull Mr Doyle away into a hidden corner behind large metal boxes on the opposite side. He pushed Mr Doyle against the wall and rubbed their bodies together. The scent of arousal was almost enough to send him into the heavens, but Ray's hand grabbed their full pricks together and squeezed. Gun play could have erupted around them and he would have been oblivious. He was lost in his body's reaction to Ray's touch.

His head fell forward and landed on Ray's shoulder. He felt the press of Ray's head against his. Satisfaction was a mild word for how he felt. He kissed Ray's neck before he pushed himself away.

"Wouldn't do to lose a position so soon after acquiring it." His tone conveyed his full regret for his actions.

"It was your fault." Mr Doyle looked away, chagrin etched across his face. "You are rather too intoxicating by far."

"I can live with that."

They had enough time for quick ablutions before they were called to join the inventors.

As before, the long table stood filled with weapons and ammunition. Both men stocked up with ammunition and replaced lost weapons and acquired a few more. Mr Bodie replenished his Bushido staffs, while Mr Doyle picked up quite a few more luminiferous aether sticks.

Mr Jax and Mr Anson joined them well after Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle had finished with selections. 

"I will spend rest of day searching the docks, as I have before. I will listen for word of this other facility." Mr Anson placed his long knife into the sheath located in the middle of his back.

Mr Jax nodded. "I will wander in areas where I will be welcome that you would not." He finished hiding his weapons. 

"I think we will check our sources, then possibly sit vigil past the sunset to see what more we could learn." Mr Bodie looked to and received silent confirmation of his plan.

The men parted to find what they needed so as not to let Mr Cowley down.

**Spring Gardens**  
**Building Seventeen**

 

They had collided together as soon as the door closed and locked behind them. Logic would dictate that they now had ample time to remove the cumbersome clothing, but logic had no place in the passion that consumed them. Kisses conveyed the desire that raged in the blood; nibbles spoke to a need that could only be assuaged by hands and mouth. 

Clothes did end up on the floor. Naked bodies met atop the bed. Mouths worshipped in ways no female could with strength and accuracy at pleasure points. Finally, they lay replete with pleasure that had reached into every inch of the body.

Mr Bodie was quite sure that he would perish with pleasure when Ray fell asleep with his head resting on his shoulder.

Mrs Jax had taken to leaving breakfast food for the flat residents. There were several tables usually reserved for cards or piquet, but Mrs Jax had appropriated them each morning and filled them with delightful edibles that could be eaten warm or cold. Grilled bloaters, codfish cakes, mutton chops, broiled kidney and onions, boiled eggs, fried plaice and anchovy sauce were among the assorted foods left to placate their early morning appetites.

Mr Doyle loved the fried plaice and anchovy sauce, while Mr Bodie was completely enamoured of the grilled bloaters, and codfish cakes. He would indulge in copious amounts of bread covered in jams, and honey as well. The few moments of domestic normalcy were so very welcome as it was quite unusual unto itself.

Mr Bodie sat back in his chair, sipped his tea, and let out a deep sigh of contentment. The tranquillity of the moment was shattered as the young ball of energy, known as Arthur Jax burst into the building. 

"Mr Doyle, Mr Doyle," Arthur called out as soon as he crossed the threshold.

The much sought-after Mr Doyle wiped his mouth with the closest napkin and stood to make himself known to the lad. "Here, Arthur," he greeted the youngest Jax while he still remained in the parlour.

"Mr Benny says he needs to see you in the park." Arthur Jax said in a rush of breath.

"Did Mr Benny say when?" Mr Doyle offered the boy an apple.

The lad took it with a nod. "He's there now, feeding the birds."

"Thank you, Arthur." Mr Doyle tossed him a few coins.

The lad departed with a skip in his step.

Mr Doyle returned to the breakfast table and watched as Mr Bodie broke off the crusts of the remaining pieces of bread.

"I believe it's time to feed the birds." Mr Bodie smiled. He held out his bread scraps and dropped them into Mr Doyle's waiting napkin.

Steven Jax already had the horses hooked to the carriage. They were ready to depart.

**Hyde Park**

 

"Okay, Benny, we're here." Mr Doyle looked about before he sat on the bench next to Mr Bodie. He spied a large flock of birds gorging themselves across the pond as he opened his bag. Mr Doyle pulled out the bread scraps he'd collected from his breakfast. He tore them into smaller pieces and cast them out for the birds.

Mr Bodie watched as birds dropped in, landing exactly where the bread was tossed. The hearing of birds must be more acute than the naturalists realised, because as soon as the crusts hit the ground dozens of birds flocked in to capture the offerings.

Mr Bodie smiled indulgently to himself, glad that he had left his bread for Mr Doyle's project.

Benny joined them on the bench with a bread bag of his own. Under his breath, with lips that barely moved, he said, "Coogen has a hidden warehouse that has the monster ships he made – like nothing you've seen before. Clark told me, he'd been inside, you see, Guv, but he died yesterday. Crushed by something heavy enough to leave his legs flat. Saw the body meself." Benny's voice broke. He drew in several steadying breaths before he resumed speaking. "Culbertson was supposed to be king of the docks, but the whole area by the marshes is full of Coogan's men now. That's where the monster ships are, I'm sure of it."

Mr Doyle stood and brushed off any crumbs that had landed on his clothes. To Mr Bodie he pointed to the direction they intended before he handed over his bread bag to Benny. 

Benny reached in for more crust to throw and saw the money inside. "Thanks, Guv."

Mr Bodie nodded to him as he passed. Mr Doyle added as he passed, "You stay clear of the docks for a bit. Good work."

The Street Knights left the park with a casual gait. They meandered a bit before they left the way they had entered. Just as they were about to step into the road, Mr Bodie turned around and walked backward, hands gesturing, talking about the variety of birds they passed. All the while, he checked to see if they were the objects of interest to anyone. He didn't want them being followed. He didn't feel they had been and visually confirmed that they were alone.

**Morris Antiquities**  
**Mr Macklin's laboratory**

 

As soon as they returned, Mr Murphy hailed them excitedly. "We have surmised what the second facility map is about. Imagine an airship bigger than the standard dirigible, that is what he has created." He led them to the worktable and showed them the spread-out drawing of what the ship would look like when completed. 

Mr Bodie stood behind Mr Doyle, close but not touching. He studied the drawing. The giant airship looked much like a monstrous bird with deformed wings. The metal talons held a platform where the gunners were most likely stationed. The body of the airship was an oddly shaped gondola.

Mr Murphy pointed to the rotating wings. "Because they move in a circle, which would only allow a limited navigation ability, we believe that they are quite unstable."

"That doesn't mean that it couldn't accomplish all the destruction that the madman Coogan has planned for it," Mr Macklin reminded them as he walked up behind them silently.

"We've done better with our small airships." Mr Murphy turned to acknowledge his fellow inventor before he continued excitedly. "They will be able to dive and climb with little effort." 

"You've tested your mock-ups?" Mr Bodie asked with a slightly incredulous tone.

"Better, we've created the real ship." Mr Macklin said as he moved around the table.

Mr Bodie turned to face Mr Macklin. He had never seen such exuberance light up his visage before this.

Mr Murphy was no less excited. He pointed to the main body. "This is designed for manoeuvrability, like the rook that darts at the falcon. You can strike and twist away." Mr Murphy explained.

"When he says strike, he is speaking of the gun turrets affixed to the front," Mr Macklin assured them.

"The pilot will work the pedals connected to aneric gas that allows the pilot to control how fast to move and when to glide in silence. The steam is pushed through tubes that re-collect the moisture and reheat it." Mr Murphy's voice was even more excited as he recited its abilities. 

"The artillery man will lie supine. Your arms and head will fit into glass pockets that allow for maximum movement. The glass is split in two. The top half is magnified, like your spyglass. The bottom is regular glass, optimal for aiming your shot." Mr Macklin continued the explanation. His voice held on to his excitement as well.

"The pièce de résistance - the gondola is not for crew like Coogan's ship. Ours is designed to hold up to three rigged explosives that can be dropped individually or all at once." Mr Murphy used his hands to show the differences.

Instead of the flat round boat appearance that he anticipated, Mr Doyle's first glance at the air vessel had him thinking it was more of the dolphin body look. Mr Bodie was surprised at how small it was. "This is but a quarter of the size Coogan has created."

"Yes, and you will be able to move as he is incapable of. You will be faster, and harder to hit. The surface of the ship is special and will deflect most of the smaller weaponry." Mr Murphy was beside himself with excitement.

"You have outdone yourself, truly."

"Yes, I believe I have . . . we have. You'd think that would at least get us noticed by the Royal Academy of Science." Mr Murphy feigned a great sigh.

Mr Bodie rolled his eyes before he looked over to Mr Doyle. "I will pilot, you will shoot. Your aim is more precise than mine."

Mr Doyle nodded. He understood the compliment. "We shall need to rescue Mr Anson's sister before we finish."

"Anson and I will pilot the submersible and gain entry from the water," Mr Murphy told them as Anson moved up behind him.

"I will melt the lock of the bay doors. Coogan will be forced to leave by his secret entrance." Mr Jax joined them as they made their tentative plans.

Mr Cowley joined them with news. "Eight o'clock tomorrow morning is Coogan's estimated lift-off. The Queen is set to visit the House of Lords at nine am. He must be out of commission long before that. I must attend Court to protect Her Majesty from the attacks planned close to her."

Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle nodded to the others as they all adjourned to the laboratory to load up with the maximum amount of firing power and tools to aid them.

Mr Cowley's cry of distress brought them all running to the front of the store. Outside was the Royal carriage and the distinguished courtier standing outside it. Mr Cowley held up his hand to signal the driver to wait.

"I've just had several reports that there is a frenzy of activity at the warehouses all along the docks. Coogan is moving early. That's it, I know. Stop them lads, it's up to you." Mr Cowley accepted his overcoat with a head bob from Mr Macklin and folded it over his arm. "Brian, you will protect this place and let any that inquire after me believe that I am the hermit they expect."

"Yes, sir," Mr Macklin assured him.

"Where will you be, sir?" Mr Bodie inquired as watched Mr Cowley's fast pace toward the still waiting carriage.

"To protect the Queen. Her opponents are sure to be making their move very soon." Mr Cowley never paused in his step. He waved to the driver to depart.

Mr Bodie nodded to the empty space. He turned as he heard plan making behind him. He joined Mr Doyle and stopped at his side.

"How do we get this ship out of here?" Mr Doyle asked. He pointed to the airship they were to use.

"Entertain no fear." Mr Macklin hurried to the massive control panel housed near the moving walkway. He opened the single slim lever and pulled up the level enclosed within. The entire dome cover moved. It opened from the centre and folded in on itself. To Mr Bodie it reminded him of the moving walkway, only reversed and above them.

As soon as the way was cleared, Mr Bodie ran to the airship. "We must prevent the airship launch," Mr Bodie yelled across to Mr Doyle as he ran toward the aircraft. Mr Doyle, who matched his footsteps followed closely, ripped off his coat and threw it aside. 

Mr Macklin shouted out a review of instructions as he ran along side the men. Both Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle nodded their understanding.

Mr Bodie headed to the lower hatch door as Mr Doyle ran around to the other side to access the armament hatch. Mr Bodie first turned on the aether system, and waited as the panel became illuminated with different colour flickers. Next, he flipped the levers as Murphy had tutored him, and the aircraft hummed as it lifted itself off the ground. It hovered, ready to respond to direction. He ran through all the instructions in his head one more time.

Mr Doyle pulled down his goggles and made sure that they were securely on his face and felt comfortable. He wouldn't be able to adjust them once inside the turret. He fell gently to his knees and slid in to the armament tunnel on his belly. He pushed his arms up and through the small crafted tubes to the finger and palm control panels. He rested the fingers of his right hand on the pads that would control the laser fire and his left on the explosive drops button. Wherever Mr Bodie flew them, he would handle the rest.

Mr Doyle signalled his readiness, and Mr Bodie lifted his airship off the lab floor, and completely cleared the fully expanded opening. He pointed the nose of the ship in the direction he wanted to go and headed to Coogan's giant warehouse finally located near the Grand Surrey Docks.

 

On the ground Mr Jax ran immediately to the horses and set off for the docks. His plan was to reach the bay doors and melt the lock closed. Once completed he would head for high cover and set his laser rifle. He would provide cover for both Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle. He would eliminate all that would bring harm to London.

Anson and Murphy headed to the lower lab water exit to launch the submersible. If an evacuation was to occur, the girls would leave via the water way.

Mr Bodie hovered near the top of the building by the bay doors, expecting that even if Jax got the doors locked from the outside, Coogan's people would blast it open anyway. Instead, it became readily apparent that something else was happening. A deafening sound emerged from the roof and then the roof itself started moving. It rolled back on itself like a fish tin, and left a gaping hole in its wake. Coogan's winged dirigible was already at its pinnacle and ready to head out. 

The giant airship really did look like a monster bird. Mr Bodie aimed his airship at the centre of the Coogan craft where the metal talons held the platform of men. Mr Doyle kept up a steady stream of laser fire. The left side fired the lasers and the right dropped in fire pellets. The aiming device was practically impossible to establish as Mr Bodie kept their airship dipping and turning. Just as Mr Doyle thought he could hit the propeller, the airship would gain altitude, throwing it all off kilter. Mr Bodie never ceased twisting and circling to avoid being hit by Coogan's gunners.

Their aircraft received glancing shots several times but nothing hit the intended mark, due more to Mr Bodie's piloting than to Coogan's men's bad aiming. Mr Doyle took out a good many of the men firing at them but he truly wanted to blast the air compressor. Projectiles zipped and whizzed past. Some bounced off the armour plating that surrounded the body of the mini-airship. Mr Bodie was never more grateful that Mr Doyle's pod was equally protected as his own.

As Mr Bodie continued to dip and weave in circles, spirals, oval and backward flips, Mr Doyle bombarded the Coogan ship. The gunners were forced to duck more than half the time to save their own lives, same went for the gas cell operators. They were hiding away from the gas tank and were unable to keep the dirigible inflated adequately. The metal wing-like features that spun in oscillating concordance protected most of the fabric. Mr Doyle targeted that fabric with the fire pellets. 

The fabric burst into flame and Coogan's men could be seen battling the new fire as well as the flames popping up all around the ship. At times, Mr Bodie could hear shouting from Coogan's ship. He could see men putting out the fires with chaotic desperation, while others were shooting back. Mr Bodie's crazy flight path, and Mr Doyle's immensely accurate shooting took its toll on Coogan's men. Some were leaping to their death to avoid being burned while others leapt as they backed away from an irate John Coogan. Mr Bodie and Mr Doyle witnessed independently Coogan pushing several injured men over the edge when it became obvious that they were no longer of any use to him.

Mr Doyle continued his erratic firing pattern as he located Coogan, himself. The man was mad as a hatter as he ran for the port edge. A robotic arm of stairs swung out and he ran down them. 

Mr Doyle engaged the ear tunnel speaking tubes to Mr Bodie's side. He yelled, "Bodie, make one more pass over the top, then we need to land, Coogan is escaping. The ship will blow soon enough." 

Mr Bodie responded with voice and action immediately. "As you request." He soared up, climbing as he moved the ship in a erratic zigzag pattern.

Once their airship was almost directly above the Coogan flaming bird, Mr Doyle set the dial so that the three rigged explosives released as one. "Get away, now!"

"Heading for the ground," Mr Bodie yelled back. He turned their airship sharply, removing them from the line of fire. He brought them down vertically as fast as he could manage, and landed near the end of Coogan's stairs. Mr Bodie unharnessed himself, grabbed his cylinder, and laser pistol, opened the hatch, and jumped to the ground. He ran to Mr Doyle's side of the craft, and opened the hatch there as well. Mr Doyle jumped out just as armed as Mr Bodie. They ran for where they last saw Coogan.

Their quarry was rolling on the ground from his long drop off the last step. He whipped himself upright and turned to face them with a pistol in each hand.

"Who are you men? Why must you attempt to frustrate my plans? I am the intended ruler. You should bow before me. DO IT NOW!"

Mr Bodie made a spinning motion with his index finger to Mr Doyle then grabbed his own lightning cylinder. He prepared the cap.

"Who are we? We are Mr Cowley's men!" Mr Doyle yelled to keep Coogan's attention focused on him. "We are fighting for our Queen, and Mr Coogan, I don't believe that you are looking at this situation clearly. Your ship is blowing up behind me. We are rescuing the stolen females as we speak and your operation is over."

"OVER?" Coogan yelled, incensed. "OVER? I have just begun. And you will be the first casualty in my new world order." He aimed both pistols at Mr Doyle. Coogan's voice had reached a hysterical level. "I don't care who you are." 

"NO." Mr Bodie yelled as he ran straight for Coogan. He blocked Mr Doyle out completely as he fingered the lightning cylinder. He pressed the metal top, it opened, and the bolt shot out. 

Mr Bodie heard the pistol crack almost at the same time as the bolt of focused lightning hit Coogan's body centre. The man was blasted into a million pieces, and each piece burst into flame. Ash floated to the ground as the dirigible behind blew up and set off a series of smaller explosions along the dock warehouses. The storehouses of armaments blew like dominoes falling in a rippling order. The sound was deafening as the sky was lit up with a bright orange-yellow.

Mr Doyle rushed to where Mr Bodie lie on the ground, still and unmoving. He fell to his knees and placed his hand on his chest to see if his heart still beat. He breathed yet. Profound relief filled Mr Doyle's being and only then did he take in his own breath of air. His hand trailed down and touched a dampness. He pulled his hand back, and it came away red with blood.

"Bodie!"

With no answer forthcoming, still on his knees, Mr Doyle moved to turn Mr Bodie over.

"Ugh. We win yet?"

Mr Doyle stilled his hands, and relaxed back onto his haunches. "Yes, thanks to you. You idiot! What were you thinking? I didn't need to be rescued. I had things under control."

"Didn't look that way to me – anyway, I distracted him just long enough and now he's dead."

"More than dead. Blasted into a million pieces. Now he can finally do some good." Mr Doyle stood and brushed his trousers off.

"What good?"

"Fertiliser. Help things grow." Mr Doyle grinned at his own humour.

"Ugh!"

Mr Bodie sat up and touched the back of his left arm. "Hurts like bee's are stinging me all in the same place. It's just a graze, hardly notice it tomorrow, but I'm quite sure my shirt is ruined." 

"I'm sure your finery was what he hoped to ruin." Mr Doyle shook his head as he helped his partner to stand.

"My finery, as you call it, has taken a most severe beating." Mr Bodie smiled at Mr Doyle before he tilted his head listening.

Both men turned to look back behind them as they heard running feet rapidly approaching. Mr Jax joined them breathing roughly. His pistols still out, he checked the area surrounding them.

"You two managed to blow up almost all the warehouses along this part of the docks. Police are responding everywhere. Medical has started showing up along with the fire brigade. I think it's time we depart this party." Mr Jax shook his head.

Mr Doyle collected the spent lightning cylinder and Mr Bodie's fallen pistols as the three men made their way back to the airship.

"I need to fly this back. Don't want the locals to learn of what we have or how it works." Mr Bodie's action matched his words. He climbed up and into the airship. The motor was still in its ready condition, the steady humming meant it was ready to lift off. He waved down to Mr Doyle and Mr Jax as he headed to Macklin's laboratory. 

The laboratory dome was still ajar, so Mr Bodie piloted his aircraft in and lined it up so he could descend to the approximate spot he had taken off from.

Mr Macklin and Lady Walsh rushed in as soon as the craft was silent. They stood silent, stunned as the ash-covered, dishevelled Mr Bodie emerged, a huge grin adorning his face.

"Coogan's empire is no more."

Mr Doyle, Mr Jax, and Major Howard burst into the laboratory on the tail end of Mr Bodie's words.

"Truer words would be hard to find," Mr Jax said as he nodded his head up and down.

"All the ammunitions and like seem to have blown up all along the dock area." Mr Doyle added. "Boom, boom, boom."

"What about Murphy and Anson? Any word?" Mr Bodie asked.

"Success!" Mr Murphy yelled as he emerged from the lower levels of the lab. "Mr Anson is with his sister now. We saved all the girls within the underwater house. Coogan's men had already disconnected it from the shore. He left them there to die. Bastard. We pushed it down river to the opposite bank. I kept the submersible anchored at the house so Anson could break open an exit and assist the women to land. Once empty, I let the house sink." Mr Murphy had drawn close enough to see his friend's wound, but Mr Bodie shook his head as not to mention it.

Mr Murphy asked instead, "What of Coogan's ship?"

Mr Jax smiled. "Blown up."

Mr Macklin closed the laboratory dome and left to check on the submersible.

Lady Walsh pointed to the door. "Let's adjourn to Georgie's office to await word on the status of Her Majesty." She led them out of the laboratory.

Mr Bodie immediately looked to Mr Doyle and they grinned at each other. Georgie!

There were trays of biscuits and tea makings at the ready for all who entered the office.

Each man set about his tea preparation by rote. That commonplace practice created a certain calmness about their actions. That it did not match their emotions was obvious, but until Mr Cowley returned, all they could do was wait. Their excitement in all the accomplishments was temporally overshadowed by the unknown fate of their Queen and her mentah, Mr Cowley. The mentah who set in motion the rescue of the century.

Less than an hour later, Mr Anson joined them. He was a much happier man than they had encountered before.

"Ich bin Ihnen sehr dankbar für meine schwester. Danke schön." Mr Anson greeted them. He grabbed Mr Bodie's hand and shook it with enthusiasm. He shook Mr Doyle's, then Mr Murphy's. "I am grateful. Danke schön."

"I'm glad it worked out so very well." Mr Bodie nodded his head as he smiled.

"As am I." Mr Cowley entered the office with Major Howard following. "The Queen is safe. Nigel Dawson is in custody with no chance at freedom. Lord Graham is no longer a minister, but no formal charges are being brought against him. The Queen did not want to air any more dirty laundry. At no time was the Queen in danger. My allies had her protected for the entire ordeal. I was there to apprehend the traitors. She was there to bear witness." Mr Cowley placed his coat on the hatstand, and sat down. 

Mr Macklin supplied Mr Cowley with his tea, liberally diluted with Whiskey. Mr Cowley sipped the beverage slowly. "If the fireworks all along the docks were anything to go by, I'd say your endeavour was successful."

"Quite." Mr Bodie dipped his head.

"And Mr Coogan?"

"Blown up," Mr Jax answered with satisfaction and a smile.

"I see." Mr Cowley looked about the office. "Good job."

**Spring Garden**

 

The day was over and Londinium was safe, for now. The Queen was safe, for now. Tomorrow would probably herald new horrors, but tonight all was safeguarded.

Mr Bodie changed his clothing, dressed his wound, and all the while he finished buttoning his shirt, he eyed the connecting door. He walked over, and tried the door. He found it open. He tapped lightly as he continued to open the door all the way.

"Have you refreshed yet?" Mr Bodie asked aloud, but kept his eyes fixed on what they were already appreciating, the view of a half-clad Ray Doyle. His shirt hung unfastened and he didn't rush to cover up.

Mr Doyle smiled before he turned and moved to the window. "After the intense action of the last couple of days, standing here in the tranquil silence seemed almost mundane."

"Mundane. I can understand that." Mr Bodie shifted his disappointment off his face and tried to interject a lightness to his voice. "All that transpired can be put down to heightened awareness of one's own mortality."

Mr Doyle turned to face Mr Bodie, his back leaning against the wall. "Not talking about that, Bodie. Our real mortality may have been the precipice, but it only hastened what was to come. You intrigue me, and I believe I intrigue you. We match, we connect, and I will not permit you to belittle its importance." Mr Doyle had moved closer with each sentence until they finally stood face-to-face with just inches between them.

"I have no intention of belittling what has occurred. I just wish to ascertain if during mundane times you wished it to continue." Mr Bodie felt he had laid himself wide open, as he had never done before. He held his breath, then let it escape slowly.

The smile that adorned Ray's face was answer enough for now. He closed what little gap there existed and pressed his lips to that smile.

**Morris Antiquities**

 

Pymar was a good man, his inside the palace man. They had tried to besmirch Drake, but in the end Dawson lost, for he was aligned with Coogan. But Cowley knew that he was not the only bad apple in the Queen's Eden. The only saving grace was that with this threat abated he had time, and with time he could do his duty.

Her Majesty now believed him as she had not done before. She had sanctioned the formation of his elite group of protectors. He remembered every word.

"Mr Cowley, you, and your inscrutable men represent new guards for our future security. It is a ponderous responsibility; wield it carefully." The Queen had been grateful, but quite, quite serious in the power she had granted.

Cowley's Inscrutables she called them. That had a ring of mystery. As it should. They would do good works.

Mr Cowley set his musing aside and looked to the post placed on his desk. He shuffled through the tedious correspondence. His hand stayed on one close to the bottom of the pile. As he looked at the sender's stamp. He stood and carried the envelope with him as he strode to the laboratory. 

"Mr Macklin, Mr Murphy, a letter arrived for you both in this day's post. It's from the Royal Academy of Science . . . "

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Author notes: 
> 
> My thanks to my betas. They are wonderful, it is I that goofs-up too much, they try and try. My thanks to Jules Verne, the mystique Around the World in 80 Days, Sequitur, Richfic, Magnificent 7 TV, and all the steampunk themed books I have devoured.
> 
> At the centre the Trafalgar Square sits Nelson's Column, which is guarded by four lion statues at its base. The lion's weren't placed there until 1867, so they aren't forgotten, just not placed at the time of this story. 
> 
>  
> 
> The translation of Mr Anson German:  
> Ich bin Ihnen sehr dankbar für meine schwester. Danke schön  
> – I am very grateful to you for my sister – thank you very much.


End file.
